


I Will Always Love You

by GettinGrimey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bodyguard, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh are Siblings, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettinGrimey/pseuds/GettinGrimey
Summary: Chart-topping pop star and actor Rick Grimes has a stalker. When the obsession escalates to a disturbing level, his manager urges him to hire a bodyguard.Negan, known for his hard-nosed security measures, has three simple rules:Never let him out of your sight.Never let your guard down.And, above all else, never fall in love.(The Bodyguard AU)





	1. Chapter 1

“ _ Rick! Rick! Rick! Rick! _ ”

 

The Superdome in Atlanta, Georgia was completely sold out. Listening to the beat created by the crowd of over 73,000 excited fans chanting his name, Rick breathed through his preshow jitters while the sound guy checked and double checked his wireless headset microphone.

 

He was seated in front of the brightly lit vanity table backstage. His stylist, an absolute sweetheart, who Rick had handpicked and nicknamed Jesus, was running his hands through his hair, adding an assortment of product to assure that his long brown waves hung just right over his forehead. Rosita, his personal makeup artist, was busy with her magic brushes, giving the heavy black eyeliner under his sparkling blue eyes one last smoky smudge before showtime.

 

Eyeing his reflection carefully in the mirror, Rick finally smiled his approval, his pearl-white teeth gleaming under the bright lights. “Perfect.”

 

The hired hands surrounding him all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Rick was known for a lot of things in this business, but he was especially known for his ability the throw a massive tantrum when things didn’t go exactly the way he wanted them to.

 

Rick glanced up at the mirror. Aiden, a newbie to the stage crew, was now standing behind him. He looked nervous.  _ And _ , rightfully so.

 

“Well, I see you finally found your way back to me. But what I”m not seeing, is the glass of whiskey I asked you for twenty motherfucking minutes ago. I swear to God, if I have to get up out of this chair and go get it  _ myself _ —”

 

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Grimes. But I can’t allow you to have any whiskey.”

 

Everyone in the room got deathly quiet. Rick turned his head, cutting his eyes in an angry glare toward the defying voice, Jesus and Rosita both taking that look as their cue to leave. 

 

“Excuse me? You can’t  _ allow  _ me?”

 

“Spencer said—”

 

“ _Spencer_ _said_ ,” Rick mocked in a childish fashion. “Let me ask you a question, Aiden. Whose fucking name are they screaming out there? Is it yours?” Rick stood up and faced him, resting both hands on his tight leather-clad hips in a feisty stance. “No? Not you? Oh, maybe they’re calling Spencer’s name. Maybe _he’s_ the fucking superstar everyone is paying a shit load of money to see!” Rick’s voice had reached shouting level. “Spencer is my goddamned publicist, not my fucking babysitter!”

 

Leaning against a wall with a gift bag and big bouquet of flowers, Shane Grimes was watching everything from the sidelines. He couldn’t help but laugh at his little brother’s full-blown diva fit over a half a glass of whiskey.

 

“The last time I checked,” Rick continued. “Spencer works for me! And you? Well you  _ used _ to! Now get the fuck out of my sight before I have security throw your ass outside!”

 

Shane walked up behind his younger sibling. “Hey, man. What do you think Mama would say if she saw you acting like this?”

 

Rick turned around crossing his arms, his hissy fit clearly unfinished. “He’s telling me when I can and can’t have a drink, Shane! Does he have any idea who he's talking to? I’m a grown ass man! I don’t need anybody’s fucking permission to—”

 

“Here.” Shane pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and placed it between Rick’s black laquered fingertips. “Take a deep breath and calm the hell down. You have less than two minutes before showtime. I’ll talk to Hershel about Spencer. Okay? Just breathe.” 

 

Rick took a long, satisfying pull at the flask, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “What’s in the bag?” he asked calmly, licking his lips as if that entire scene between he and Aiden hadn’t even happened. 

 

“Don't know. It was delivered with these flowers. Card says, ‘Rick, we love you!’ 

 

Just as Rick reached for it, Shane pulled it back.

 

“C’mon. Just let me take a quick peek inside. It might be something good.”

 

“No!” Shane snapped, turning, putting himself between Rick and the gift. “You don’t have  _ time _ . You’re on any second now.”

 

“Fine,” Rick pouted, taking in another mouthful of whiskey from the flask. Screwing the lid back on tight, he shoved it back into Shane’s hands. “How do I look?” He was dressed in black leather pants, a matching leather jacket and combat boots.”

 

“You look good, but uh, where’s your shirt.”

 

“It’s sexier this way, don’t you think?” Rick winked, trying one last time to get at the gift bag.

 

“Leave the bag alone. You can open it later, after the concert.” 

 

Shane sat the gift down on the vanity next to all other gifts, flowers and cards that had been delivered earlier. 

 

Just as Rick took the stage with a loud burst of theatrical fireworks and the roar of an insane crowd, the bag detonated backstage, exploding with such force, it destroyed the table and shattered the mirror, leaving nothing but fire and destruction behind.

 

***

 

Wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, Negan was lounging in a lawn chair under the single tree in his backyard. Rick’s personal manager, Hershel Greene was standing beside him, trying his best to engage him in conversation. So far, it wasn’t going well.

 

“Are you serious? You’re going to turn down five-thousand dollars a week?”

 

Not even bothering to look up, Negan continued to thumb through his magazine, sipping slowly on the tall glass of peach iced tea in his other hand. 

 

Frustrated, Hershel looked around. He noticed a scattering of throwing knives laying in the fresh cut grass. “So you’re saying you won’t protect Mr. Grimes? Just because he’s in show business?” He picked up one of the knives by the blade and threw it, missing his target by about three feet.

 

“That’s what I’m saying. I’m sorry. I don’t do celebrities.”

 

“What is it that you’re after here? More money? Fine. Six-thousand a week.”

  
“Look, Mr. Greene...”

 

“Seven thousand.”

 

“No. Now there are several good men I could recommend for that kind of money. Morgan Jones. Tyreese Williams.” Negan snapped his fingers. “What about Philip Blake? I used to work with him. He's very good.”

 

“I’ve already spoken with Blake, he was definitely interested, eager to work for Rick. But we heard that  _ you  _ were the best.”

 

“The best?” Negan scoffed and tossed his magazine onto the grass. “I think you heard wrong.”

 

Exasperated, Hershel dropped his head and sighed. “Negan,  _ sir _ , with all due respect, we’re talking about a very frightened man here with an eight-year-old little boy. Someone tried to kill him. Tried to blow him up in his dressing room. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this threat was real. I saw what that bomb did. Whoever did this, meant for there to be nothing left of Rick but memories and memorabilia.”

 

Negan glanced toward the older gentleman. “Rick Grimes? Is he the one with all the tattoos?”

 

“Tattoos? No. Where the hell have you been? Rick is one of the most famous people in America. He’s won every music award known to man, he’s got the number one song in the country right now,  _ and,  _ I’m almost certain he’ll be nominated for an Oscar in his starring role for  _ King Of The Night _ .”

 

Unimpressed, Negan shrugged. 

 

“Look, he begged me to get  _ you  _ specifically. He won’t even consider anyone else because of your reputation. Please, just give it some thought. I don’t want to have to be the one to go back and tell him you said no _. _ ”

 

Rising from his seat, Negan blew out a chestful of air. “ _ Alright _ . I’ll come.” He walked across the yard and picked up a handful of knives. “I’ll look the situation over. But if I take this job, it’s ten-thousand a week.”

 

Hershel whistled sharply. “You’d have to be  _ very  _ deadly for ten grand a week.”

 

“Deadly?” Negan eyed the white-haired man carefully. “Stand aside. I’ll show you how deadly I am. I never miss my target.” 

 

Hershel watched him closely as he aimed for a narrow, white wooden post, about twenty feet away.

 

Negan drew back and released one of the knives. “Shit.” It landed in the center of a knothole in the picket fence. He drew back again, but the knife slipped out of his grip, landing behind him, directly between Hershel’s feet. “You might not want to stand there.”

 

“Maybe this was a mistake,” Hershel mumbled, moving to the other side of the yard.

 

Negan laughed. “I was just fucking around with you. I didn’t miss. Both those knives landed exactly where I intended them to.”

 

Regarding him skeptically, Hershel simply nodded.

 

“Don’t believe me? You see those three holes in that post? Don’t take your eyes off of them.” In rapid succession, Negan threw all three knives directly into the pre-existing holes. He turned around, a cocky smile decorating his face. “Deadly.”

 

***

 

Negan pulled his car up to the secured entrance outside of Rick’s home. Observing the state of the security gate and the outdated, not to mention heavily damaged, intercom system, he realized how much of a sitting duck Rick really was. He hit the call button and waited for an answer.

 

As he waited, Negan felt a sudden prickling at the back of his neck, a peculiar sense of someone watching him. Looking up through his rearview mirror, he spotted a black Toyota parked at the end of the driveway. No sooner than he had spotted it, the driver of the vehicle back up and drove away, too fast for Negan to get a clear look.

 

A man’s voice crackled through the intercom speaker. The transmission was terrible. It was more static than voice. “Yes?”

 

“My name is Negan. I’m here to see Mr. Grimes.”

 

“What?”

 

_ Jesus Christ _ . Negan rolled his eyes at the obvious incompetence handling security for this guy. Wondering just how easy it would be to penetrate their system, he smiled. “I’m here to kill Mr. Grimes.”

 

“You got an appointment?”

 

“Yeah. And when I kill him, I’m going to eat him.”

 

“Alright. Come on in.”

 

The rusty hinges on the weather worn gate squeaked and creaked arthritically as they opened, allowing Negan access to a man he had just threatened. It was a thousand wonders that Rick Grimes was still alive. 

 

“Ho-ly shit,” Negan whispered to himself as he drove up and around the winding driveway. Rick’s mansion sat at the top of a hill. It was massive, going on and on and on, as far as he could see. And the football field sized swimming pool? Well that was something Negan had only heard of or seen in magazines. “I should have asked for more fucking money.”

 

The grounds surrounding the mansion were heavily landscaped. Plenty of hiding places for a potential killer. 

 

Negan pulled his car around the back of the house where a long black limousine was being detailed. A muscular guy, who resembled a biker more than he did a chauffeur, looked up from his work. 

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Are you the moron I just talked to on the intercom?”

 

“No. Can I  _ help  _ you?”

 

“My name is Homer Simpson. I have an appointment with a Mr. Rick Grimes.”

 

“And that appointment was arranged  _ by... _ ?”

 

“Hershel Greene.”

 

“Oh. Okay. Head that way and go right on in, Mr. Simpson.”

 

Negan couldn’t believe it. This is what they call security? He had just gotten past two people, neither of whom bothered to ask him to show identification. Neither checking him for weapons or explosives. Anyone could walk in off the streets, sashay directly up to the house, and shoot this superstar right in his own home. Under everyone’s noses. 

 

He rang the doorbell. Not only was the door unlocked, it was left partially open. A friendly housekeeper, with glasses and an offset ponytail, pulled the door back. “Yes?”

 

“Johnny Cash to see Mr. Grimes.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Johnny Cash,” Negan repeated, hoping at least one person would be smart enough to stop him and ask for some form of identification. “I have an appointment with Rick Grimes.”

 

“Come in, please. If you'll excuse me, I’ll go see if I can locate Mr. Greene.”

 

While alone, Negan wandered around the house a bit. The further he went, the warmer and more lived-in each room appeared. 

 

He stepped into a room overlooking the pool area. One of the walls was nothing but shelves, housing the trophies of Rick Grimes’ career. A Tony award, three Grammy's, and an assortment of gold and platinum records all stood out among a plethora of other statuettes and plaques. 

 

A heavy musical bass distracted Negan from the awards. Following the sound, he found a studio-type room filled with video cameras and sound equipment. His eyes scanned around the place. Bright beams of light shone down, cutting through a white mist created by the smoke machines in the floor. There were at least fifty people in the room. Some were working hard on carefully choreographed dance moves, some simply sat and watched. Everyone else was drinking and laughing, attempting to talk over the incredibly loud music that blared throughout the house, completely oblivious to his presence.

 

Across the room, a large swivel chair turned to reveal Hershel. With a wave of his arm, he called him over. Negan nodded his acknowledgement and dodged his way through the chaos. When he was halfway there, a big, burly redhead spotted him. Negan knew, just from his appearance alone, that he had to be the current bodyguard. Just as he stood up and walked toward him, Hershel stopped him, signaling to him that everything was under control. 

 

Negan turned his attention to the dancers. They were all men, dressed in crop tops and short, body-hugging shorts, dancing provocatively in pairs.

 

When the music ended, one voice could be heard above all others. He was engaged in several overlapping conversations about how well the rehearsal went.

 

Negan looked to the source of the voice, but could only see a mop of intentionally messy brown hair from behind. 

 

“I’m glad you could make it,” Hershel said, shaking his hand. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to Rick. He’s been itching to meet you.”

 

“I bet he has,” Negan mumbled under his breath, now aware of how badly the man needed his help.

 

“Rick,” Hershel nodded in Negan’s direction. “Negan is here.” 

 

“Who’s here?”

 

“Negan. The  _ bodyguard _ ,” he added after getting no response.

 

Rick wasn’t paying attention. He laughed and continued his conversation with one of the dancers.

 

Hershel, getting irritated, threw his hands up. “Rick, raise your ass up out of that chair and come meet this man.”

 

Groaning and growling in protest, Rick finally stood. “Alright, alright. I’m up! What’s so goddamned impor—” 

 

He and Negan locked eyes, staring at each other from across the room as both their mouths curved into a half smile. After a moment, Negan blinked himself back to reality and stepped forward.

 

“Rick, I’d like to formally introduce you to Negan, the  _ best  _ bodyguard money can buy.”

 

Rick stretched out his hand. “Hello.” 

 

“Hi.”

 

Rick’s smile widened, eyeing him from head to toe. “I have to say, you don’t look too much like a bodyguard.”

 

Negan’s eyebrows lifted as he suppressed a laugh. “Well, what did you expect?”

 

“I don’t know. A big, ugly tough guy.”

 

“Hey,” Abraham responded, feigning offense. 

 

“This is my disguise. No one ever suspects me to be the bodyguard.”

 

Rick laughed and brushed the hair back out of his eyes. 

 

Shane walked over and joined the three of them.

 

“Negan, this is Shane. Rick’s older brother and personal secretary.”

 

“Hey,” Shane said, shaking Negan’s hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, man.”

 

“You, too.”

 

“Over here we have Abraham Ford, the current bodyguard. That guy on the phone over there is Spencer Monroe, Rick’s publicist.”

 

“Can we get you something to drink?” Rick asked.

 

“A glass of orange juice would be nice,” Negan replied.

 

“Straight?” Rick questioned. 

 

The question obviously flustered Negan. He sputtered like a faulty car engine before he realised Rick was talking about the drink. “Y-Yeah. Just straight orange juice, please.”

 

“Shane,” Rick giggled. “Get the man some orange juice.”

 

Clearly put off by Rick’s blatant flirting, Shane shook his head and reluctantly went to get Negan his drink. 

 

“Listen,” Rick said. “This whole thing was Hershel’s idea. He’s got this sudden obsession with protecting me. But Abraham has always done security for me. I’ve always been safe. I think we’re doing just fine. I mean, I’ve never been hurt or attacked.”

 

“Always been safe? What about the explo—”

 

“He’s right,” Spencer yelled, still clutching his phone to his ear. “This is nothing. The number of psychos writing fan letters skyrockets every time Rick is on the cover of a magazine.”

 

_ Fan letters? _ Negan thought.  _Who the fuck was talking about fan letters?_

 

Hershel cast his eyes at Spencer, giving him an unspoken warning. “Not like this.”

 

“Relax guys,” Rick insisted, signing off on a stack of papers just handed to him by an assistant. “Relax. I said I’m gonna go through with this. And I will.”  He looked to Negan. “You see what I’m dealing with here? Everyone is paranoid for nothing.”

 

Negan looked around, a puzzled expression growing on his face. It was suddenly crystal clear that Rick had no clue about the imminent danger he was in. 

 

“I’m willing to go along with this beefed-up security thing, as long as we all understand each other. I’m not gonna let this alter my life. Not one little bit.” 

 

Negan swallowed hard, realizing how clueless this poor guy was, to everything.

 

“I'm safe when I'm here at the house,” Rick continued. “So I guess the main thing will be when I go out. Abe can fill you in on all that. But you two gotta to work something out. A schedule or something. I don't want both of you falling all over me everywhere I go. And the most important thing is this, I will not allow Carl to be affected by this. I won’t have him feeling like he’s living in a prison. I don’t want the grounds to be altered at all.”

 

No. This was not going to work. No way in hell. How was Negan supposed to protect someone, when they weren’t even aware that they needed protection?

 

“I think there's been some kind of mistake. A misunderstanding. If you'll show me the quickest way out, we can save each other a lot of trouble here.”

 

Rick stared at Negan, incredulous, his blue eyes now blank as he watched him walk out the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

Negan couldn't leave fast enough. He didn’t want anything more to do with these people. He hadn’t even agreed to take the job yet, and they were already feeding him a load of half truths and bullshit. Did they think he was stupid? That he couldn’t figure it out? His ability to read people was what made him the best in this business.

 

“Negan,” Hershel called out behind him, following him out through the sliding door. “Please. Will you wait a minute?”

 

Spencer ended his phone call, his features rigid with disapproval. “Let him go, Hershel. I don’t think we should be begging this guy for his services. If he doesn’t want to be here…”

 

“Shut your mouth, Spencer. I’m handling this.”

 

Negan was moving rapidly down the slope of the back lawn. Hershel moved as fast as his aging legs would allow, trying to catch up to him.

 

“Will you—will you just wait—”

 

Negan could hear the older man struggling for air behind him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hershel wheezed, catching up and blocking the path in front of him. “I should have told you more. I know I should have. But I was afraid he wouldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t give up that kind of information unless I knew for sure he wouldn’t back out. I thought maybe, if the two of you spent some time together, let the two of you work it out, you might come to an understanding.”

 

“We already came to an understanding.” Negan said, going around Hershel, determined to get off of this property. “I’m not taking the job. What else is there to understand?”

 

Hershel was grasping at straws.

 

“Look. It might not seem like it from the outside looking in, but Rick, he’s a good person. But whether he knows it or not, he needs you.” The two men shared a long look between them. “You’re here. You’ve come this far. If you’ll just wait here for one minute, there’s something I need to show you. _Please_.”

 

Negan glanced back up at the house, Rick was watching them through the glass wall of the studio. Even in the distance that separated them, he could still see the confusion in those lakewater blue eyes. He turned his sights back to Hershel. “I’ll give you _one_ minute.”

 

While Hershel headed back toward the house, a soft whirring sound caught Negan’s attention. His first thought was that the stalker, or possibly an overzealous fan, might have been attempting to fly a spy drone over the property.

 

This was the way Negan lived. Through constant vigilance and a heightened state of awareness. He considered it _both_ his genius... and his burden.

 

With his trained eyes focused, he scoured the sky.

 

Nothing.

 

The sound of splashing water pricked his ears. Using the heavy landscaping to his advantage, he moved closer to the sound. Reaching the pool, he noticed someone hunched over the edge. Instinctively, his hand went for the gun holstered underneath his jacket.

 

Hearing a small laugh, Negan relaxed, expelling a shaky sigh of relief. It was only a child. A little boy, whose frail figure was dwarfed even more by the size of the pool. He had to be Rick’s son.

 

In his hand, the boy held a remote control for a foot-long speedboat that was currently cutting across the surface of the water. The only other person in sight was, an older woman he presumed to be the kid’s nanny, who was keeping watch under one of the poolside umbrellas.

 

Stepping out from behind the trees and onto the concrete of the pool area, Negan looked down at his watch. When he lifted his gaze again, the boy was walking in his direction, clutching his boat against his pale, freckled chest.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hey, kid.”

 

Carl, his eyes the same striking shade of blue as his father’s, smiled up at him. He was so happy just to have someone to talk to. To have someone actually talk back to him when he spoke. His dad wanted to spend more time with him, but he was always too busy, or away on tour.

 

Most of his time was spent alone. Playing in his room with a new shipment of toys that he received almost daily. Or playing outside the mansion, racing one of his many boats in the swimming pool. He was lonely, and it showed.

 

“Do you like boats,” he asked excitedly, holding his prized possession out for Negan to get a better look at it.

 

“No,” Negan replied, glancing at his watch again, eager to be on his way. “I don’t much care for boats.”

 

Shock crossed Carl’s face. “Why _not_?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know.”

 

“Of course you know, you just don’t want to tell me.”

 

Negan sized the boy up, considering him for a moment. Slipping out of his suit coat, he crouched down so that he was eye-level with him. “You’re a pretty smart kid.”

 

Carl puffed his chest out proudly and nodded, falling in with Negan’s high opinion of him.

 

“Well,” Negan started. “I’ll tell you. One time I was stuck on a boat with some people for four long months. It was a real drag.”

 

“Was it a lifeboat?”

 

“Nope. It was a big white yacht. Do you know what a yacht is, little man?”

 

Carl thought about it for a second before his face split into an ear-to-ear grin. “Yeah. My dad rented a _huge_ yacht last summer. We went on a long trip. He thought it would be fun, but he puked the entire time. He couldn’t eat or drink anything without…” Carl clutched his stomach with his empty hand and began to retch spasmodically, mimicking his father throwing up. “It was great. I love boats.”

 

Negan laughed as he stood to leave. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

 

With the sun in his eyes, Carl squinted up at him knowingly. “You’re the new bodyguard, aren’t you? For my dad? You’re gonna keep him safe, right?”

 

Negan stared down at him in surprise. “What do you know about that?”

 

Carl looked down, worrying over a small pebble with his bare toes. “I’ve got ears. Besides, no one notices me being around most of the time.”

 

“Well, I’ll have to remember that.”

 

Hershel trotted down to the pool area, out of breath. In his hand, he was holding onto a bulging file folder. When he saw Carl standing there, he moved the overstuffed file casually to his side. “How you doing, Carl?” He looked back to Negan. “Thank you for waiting. Is it okay if we walk a ways? Some place a little more private?”

 

“It was nice meeting you, Carl.”

 

Carl stood, unmoving, still clinging to his boat, staring after both men silently.

 

***

 

Hershel slid the folder across the patio table to Negan, opening it to reveal a surfeit of letters. “These are all from just the last six months.”

 

Negan looked at the massive pile. “Have you ever tried to have any of these professionally evaluated?”

 

Hershel shook his head no.

 

Some of the letters were hand written, some typed. Several included disturbing drawings that depicted violent, sexual encounters with Rick, one of which Negan read out loud.

  
  
  


_Rick, My Love_

 

_For years, I have watched you. I alone seem to know who you really are. Let’s stop kidding ourselves. We both know what you really want. But you will have to use restraint for the time being. I know, it’s hard to wait when you want something so badly. But when the moment comes, I promise you, you will have never known such pleasure. First, I’ll tie you so that you are suspended, your lovely backside flesh exposed to my wandering hands. And then, I’ll use my whip. I'll make you feel my love for you with every lash. I’ll take my time and fuck you the way you should be fucked. Then... I’ll cut you._

 

_I just can’t wait, Lover._

  
  
  


Spencer joined them on the patio. He hovered uncomfortably over Negan’s shoulder, peering down at the stack of alarming letters and drawings, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“Is this your first time?” he asked, sucking obnoxiously on a lollipop. “Working with a celebrity, I mean?”

 

“No.” Negan swallowed stiffly. “I-I worked for Michonne Anthony before she… ”

 

“No shit? The world champion Kendo fighter? Well I mean, used to be. Before she got—”

 

“Yeah.” he answered quickly, clearing his throat. Wanting to get off the subject, he threw himself back into the letters.

 

He went through them quickly, with an expert eye. He stopped when he came across one in the form of a ransom note, the words assembled from cutouts of magazines and newspapers, pasted together to form sentences. “This one,” he said, pointing. “This could be something.”

 

Hershel searched Negan’s face. “What? You think it’s connected? You think it could be the same person who rigged the explosion? We found the letter the same night.”

 

“I don’t know yet. How did Rick react to all of these letters and drawings? Where was he during the explosion in his dressing room? How was he after that?”

 

Hershel and Spencer exchanged a look. It was clear to Negan that this was a sore spot between the two of them.

 

“Goddammit,” Negan whispered. “I was right. I didn’t wanna be, but I am. Aren’t I? He doesn’t know, does he? The poor bastard has been marked for death, and he doesn’t have a fucking clue.”

 

“We—” Spencer started until Hershel shot him another look. “ _I_... did what I thought was best. I did it for him. I told him there had been some electrical issues while he was on stage. A short circuit. We never told him about the letters either.” He paused, taking in the look of disbelief on Negan’s face. “Look, he doesn’t need that kind of worry right now. Do you have any idea how much this shit would upset him?”

 

“Tell me, at the very least, that you went to the police about the bomb.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Spencer answered, sounding a little more than irritated. “There was no need for the police. No one was injured. Do you know how messy it would have been to cancel that show? How much money we would have lost?”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Negan shook his head. With a heavy sigh, he turned to look at Carl again. He'd gone back to playing with his boat in the pool.

 

He wondered how many other close calls there had been. How many other moments in which an innocent child could have lost his father? And for what? So this self-serving asshole could keep his own pockets lined?

 

Hershel’s eyes were still on Negan. “Spencer, I think we should show him the room.”

 

***

 

Negan followed the two men through the house and into a massive, overly decorated bedroom. Glancing around, he took in all of the self-portraits and pricey decor. In the center of the room, was the biggest bed he had ever laid eyes on. The damn thing had statues as bedposts.

 

“Is this his bedroom?”

 

“Yes,” Spencer answered quickly.

 

“ _No_ ,” Hershel corrected. “He sleeps in a room next to Carl’s down the hall. Spencer had this room rigged for a magazine layout.”

 

“ _Superstars in their Boudoirs._ Did you see it?” he asked proudly?

 

“No.”

 

“Rick never slept in here. He didn't like it. Said it wasn’t his style.”

 

Spencer, his mouth parting and forming a silent ‘O’, appeared to be offended. He bent his brow in a stern frown toward the man. “Rick didn’t _have_ to like it.”

 

Hershel placed the cut-out letter in the center of the bed. “This is where we found it.”

 

Negan stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face Hershel, eyes wide and irritation growing more and more visible on his face. “Somebody was _in the house_? Here, in this bedroom?”

 

Hershel dropped his head and studied the disturbing words in the middle of the bed. “Someone broke into the house and… he masturbated on the bed. Found the letter right next to the _evidence_.”

 

Unable to swallow this information, Negan looked to Spencer. “And Rick, I’m guessing he doesn’t know about this either?”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? This would really freak him out. Do you know what kind of problems that would cause? No. This is why we called _you._ ”

 

“What do you think, Negan?” Hershel already had an inkling as to what he was thinking, judging by the grim twist in his features. But he needed to hear it. He cared about Rick. In the years that he had worked for him, he had come to think of him more as a family member, rather than his boss. He cared about Carl, too. He knew if anything ever happened to Rick, the negative impact on him would be devastating.

 

“You wanna know what _I_ think? Some guy penetrates the house, gets all the way to the second goddamned story without anyone seeing him, walks into a bedroom and jerks off on the bed. I'd say that pretty much already qualifies as a _problem_.”

 

The irritation caused by Negan’s ridiculing tone was clearly evident on Spencer’s face. “We don’t need this shit right now.”

 

“This fucking house is wide open,” Negan mumbled under his breath.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“I _said_ this house is wide open. You walk in here and find some dude’s spunk all over the bed and you’re telling me it isn’t? You might as well place a welcome mat at the front door and stick a target on Rick’s back. You people don’t have the first fucking clue what real security is or what it takes to achieve it.”

 

Hershel did a quick read of Negan’s face and put his hands out. “Just tell me how you want to handle things and I’ll accommodate you.”

 

“I can’t. I just… I _can’t_ protect him like this.”

 

“Like _what_?” Spencer questioned.

 

“I won’t be responsible for Rick’s safety if he doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

 

“I’ll talk to him,” Hershel assured. “I can do that. I’ll _make_ him understand.”

 

No!” Spencer headed for the door in a huff. “If anyone is talking to him about this, it’ll be me.”

 

Emerging from the bedroom and walking down the hall, Hershel seem to hear the unspoken questions running through Negan’s head. “Rick’s not going to give you any shit about this, Negan. You’ve got my word on that.”

 

Negan laughed. “Of course he will. Spencer, too."

 

“So what job is perfect? You’re a bodyguard, aren’t you?”

 

Negan, ignoring the questions, stopped walking and focused his attention on a large TV playing in one of the rooms as they passed by. Rick was on the screen. He was being featured on one of those celebrity news bits. He listened to his powerful voice as he belted out a song in, what he presumed to be, one of his music videos.

 

_Don't make me close one more door_

_I don't want to hurt anymore_

_Stay in my arms if you dare_

_Or must I imagine you there_

_Don't walk away from me_

_I have nothing_

_Nothing_

_Nothing_

_If I don’t have you_

 

The overenthusiastic host of the show began to talk over the music. “It’s Oscar time again! This year, everyone’s money is riding on Rick Grimes for best actor. With the song _I Have Nothing,_ from his acting debut in _King Of The Night_ , still in the top ten on the charts, it seems like the multitalented actor/singer could soon end up having _everything_.”

  


***

 

The guest bedroom that Negan was shown to was more like a room in a five-star luxury hotel. The bed looked inviting, comfortable with big fluffy pillows and a thick white comforter that he just wanted to sink into. But this, this was no vacation. He had agreed to take the job. A job where danger would lurk around every corner.

 

He flopped his old battered suitcase onto the bed and opened it. Pulling out a few drawers in the dresser, he started to put away his things.

 

“Why’d you tell me your name was Simpson?”  


Negan turned around. The chauffeur was leaning against the door jamb. “I was testing you. I wanted to see how difficult it was to get inside the house.”

 

Daryl smiled, albeit tightly. “And it wasn’t, was it?”

 

“No,” Negan laughed. “I’ve had more trouble getting a table in my favorite restaurant.”

 

Daryl noticed the guns in Negan’s suitcase, carefully lifting one for a closer inspection.

 

Negan took notice of his curiosity. “I'll bet you can fill up a whole day just washing the cars and driving Mr. Grimes around from place to place, can’t you?”

 

Daryl put the gun back in its place and shrugged, crossing his muscular arms. “Well, yeah. That’s my job.”

 

Negan removed three gun cartridges from the suitcase and put them in the back of the dresser drawer as Daryl watched. “We’re adding to your duties.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“We’re adding to your duties. I need an assistant. You’re it.”

 

“Says who?” Daryl asked, his eyes narrowing in question.

 

“I've spent a lot of time guarding people all over the world,” Negan replied.” And I've always found one thing to be true. No matter how incompetent the assassins are, no matter how many times they miss their target, there's one person who _always_ gets hit.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The cocky chauffeur.”

 

***

 

“This will be replaced later today,” Negan pointed at the dilapidated security gate as Daryl took notes on a notepad. “I want two cameras here. One, a face camera by the new call box that’s going in to replace that goddamned dinosaur, and two, a scene camera on top of this pillar looking down. These trees here,” he gestured widely with his arms. “I want them all cut back so that the new security lights can shine over the property. Rick’s paid enough for this place, he ought to be able to fucking see it. All these trees back here… ”

 

Carl was out on the edge of the terrace. He was watching all of the commotion going on around the estate with excitement. Sledgehammers breaking up and tearing down easy-to-scale concrete walls, vulnerable windows being replaced with steel frames and bullet-resistant glass.

 

“Morning Carl,” Rick walked out beside his son wearing a black silk robe, tousled bed-head curls and a sleepy smile. “What’re you looking at?” Following his son’s gaze, he could see Negan walking the grounds with Daryl. “What the _hell_ is he doing?”

 

The smile that lined his face seconds ago was now gone. His one request of not altering the grounds had been ignored completely. Shot straight to hell. And all he could do was stand there, watch in horror as it happened.

 

Who did this man think he was anyway? His fucking savior? And why was he so gung-ho on protecting him from a threat that didn’t even exist? Just because Hershel had a wild hair up _his_ ass, didn’t mean his home needed to be turned upside down and their lives thrown into turmoil.

 

He didn’t need a bodyguard. Hell, Abraham was only around for a show of muscle and strength. His fans loved and adored him. Most of them worshipped him. They would _never_ hurt him.

 

He would just have to prove it.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let you know, I haven't abandoned Like Nobody's Watching or Eyes Without a Face. I'm simply struggling to find the time right now to get the updates completed. I'm ahead of myself with this one, so it will move faster. 
> 
> XOXO

The process of securing Rick’s estate was still going strong as Negan, walking the grounds alone this time, checked each and every accessible entrance to the house personally, unwilling to leave anything up to chance. 

 

At the far end of the pool house, he found a gym fitted with an impressive collection of muscle building machines and free weights. Looking through the windows, he could see Rick’s brother, Shane, pumping iron and sweating up a storm. 

 

Spotting Negan outside, Shane sat the seventy-pound dumbbells down on the floor with a heavy exhale, turned down his loud music and motioned for him to come inside. 

 

The dead weight of a huge St. Bernard sleeping on the floor was blocking the entrance. The dog, deciding it was simply too much of an effort to move voluntarily, slid across the shiny surface of the polished wood floors as Negan muscled his way through the door. 

 

“ _ Lori _ ,” Shane laughed, clapping his hands together. “You better get your lazy ass over here, girl. Come on.”

 

Negan checked the lock meticulously on the glass-panel door as he closed it. “That’s a— that’s an unusual tactic for a guard dog. Probably not the most effective, but it would definitely slow an intruder down. Might buy you a little time.”

 

“She used to be Rick’s dog. Just a pet. But, he was never around to take care of her right. So I took her. Didn’t I, girl? You're  _ my _ bodyguard, aren't ya? Yeah you are.” Shane rubbed Lori’s back and kissed her on the top of her head before she flattened out in the floor again to go back to sleep. “Hey man, feel free to have a look around. Do whatever it is you gotta do to make this place safe for Rick and Carl.”

 

“Nice to know that at least one person around here is willing to take this shit seriously. I’m sorry to have to interrupt your workout, though. It's just that I—”

 

“Oh hell,” Shane said wiping his wet face and neck with a towel. “That’s alright. Just gives me a good excuse to take a breather. This is my private place. I’m the only damn person who works out around here. Rick he—he fools around in here every once and awhile, but only when he feels like he’s putting on a pound or two.”

 

Negan released a quick, breathy laugh as he walked around the room. Noticing a group of framed photographs on the wall, he stopped. Most of them were of Shane performing with a band many years ago.

 

“I didn't know you were in the music business, too.Do you do your own thing, or are you a part of Rick's show?”

 

“Nah,” Shane offered bashfully, walking up beside him. “That’s nothing. Just my own little ego wall. You ain’t gonna find no platinum records here, I’m afraid.”

 

Negan’s attention was immediately drawn to a picture of two handsome, teenage boys. One with a guitar, and the other one, the younger of the two, standing in front and center with a microphone. “Is this you and Rick?” 

 

“It is,” Shane said, staring at the photo with a fond smile. His smile slowly faded as he stood there, quietly reflecting for a moment. 

 

“The two of you don’t look very much alike,” Negan noted, studying the picture intently. “You have the same hair color, that's about it.”

 

“Yeah. The Grimes’ family adopted me when I was eight months old. They were told they couldn’t have kids of their own. When I was five, my mom and dad told me that I was gonna be a big brother. Defying the odds, Mama was pregnant with Rick. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to meet him.” Shane laughed loud and hard. “Man, that kid was a fucking brat from the get-go, I tell you what. Hell, he’s still a brat.” He laughed again, this time, Negan joining him, shaking his head in agreement. 

 

“When I was seventeen,” Shane continued. “Me and some buddies of mine put together this little rock band. We played high school dances and local venues, stuff like that. We were pretty good, if I do say so myself. Then Rick joined the act. As you can imagine, he was one hell of an entertainer. Man, even at twelve years old, that boy had a way of stopping the show.” He paused for a moment, looking affectionately at his younger brother in the photo. “So I—I kind of just gave it up. Professionally, anyway.”

 

“And you never went back?”

 

“Nah. It was pretty obvious who the star in our family was.”

 

***

 

“A lot of work went into these. A  _ lot  _ of work.”

 

Negan was sitting in a conference room across the table from his longtime friends, Bob Stookey and Sasha Williams, a power team with the FBI that he trusted with his life. They were looking over some of the letters that had been sent to Rick. 

 

“This one,” Sasha said, placing another pasted letter on the table. “This is another one we think is worth pursuing.”

 

**_GRIMES BITCH_ **

 

**_YOU HAVE EVERYTHING_ **

**_I HAVE NOTHING_ **

 

**_THE TIME IS COMING_ **

**_WHEN YOU SHALL DIE_ **

  
  
  


“This guy’s repetitive use of  _ I Have Nothing  _ in his letters, it doesn't really offer us any help. It’s a natural considering the movie and the number one hit song from the soundtrack.” 

 

“No fingerprints either,” Bob added. “But, we’re still doing lab work on them. There are a lot of stones still left unturned.”

 

Sasha turned to Negan. “These are the ones you think are connected to the explosion?”

 

“That’s what his manager thinks.”

 

“Well, we’ll finish everything on our end and then push everything through to Washington. Behavioral Sciences should have something for us in a few days.”

 

“Washington?” Negan questioned, his eyebrows raised in shock. “Wow. Why am I getting all of this cooperation on this case? I mean, I appreciate the shit out of it, don’t get me wrong here, but this isn’t the president or anything. He’s just… some guy.”

 

Sasha laughed. “Are you kidding me? He isn’t just some guy. He’s a huge star, Negan. A lot of people care about him.  _ Important  _ people.”

 

“You know what would be really helpful?” Bob asked. “Rick with an audience around him. Got any crowd photos or concert photos you could get to us?”   
  
“No. My number one priority right now, besides keeping him safe, is keeping him away from crowds.”

 

“Good luck with that. That guy is everywhere.”

 

***

 

“Brunch? At the Canoe? On a Sunday?” Negan shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“You’re welcome to join us if you—” When Negan’s words sank in, Rick stopped, his eyes narrowing as he stared back at him coldly. “What did you say to me?” Quickly stepping into Negan’s personal space, he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Let me make this absolutely clear. You work for me. I wasn’t asking you if you thought it was a good idea. And I certainly wasn’t asking you for your fucking permission. I’m  _ telling you _ , we’re going to brunch with my friends. Just like we always do. You wanna come, come. If not, Abe can handle things just fine. He always has.”

 

Negan, feeling much like a scolded pup, shrank against the wall and nodded his head.

 

***

 

The restaurant had clearly reached its seating capacity, and customers were still arriving. Cameras, from both fans and paparazzi, were flashing left, right and center, trying to get a snapshot of Rick eating brunch with his celebrity pals. Abraham stood on one side of the table, while Negan guarded the other. 

 

He listened to Rick, as he schmoozed and carried on with his friends, catching up on all of the latest dirt, as if they were the only people in the room. How he was able to ignore the chaos and the noise of the crowd surrounding him, screaming his name, was beyond Negan.

 

He rolled his eyes after hearing Rick order a second bottle of Dom Pérignon. They were doing a lot more drinking and gossiping than they were eating the ton of expensive food Rick had ordered.

 

Negan knew he was only trying to keep up his image and maintain his celebrity status, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the real Rick was like. The man hidden away behind closed doors, out of the public eye. In the few times that their eyes had met, he could have sworn he saw something soft behind those big baby blues. Something kind and vulnerable. Maybe even a hint of sadness there, too. 

 

Carl, bored with the conversation of  _ he said, she said  _ going on at the table, walked over to stand beside Negan, a small toy boat clutched tightly in one of his hands.

 

“I’ve seen the car before,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

Negan looked down at the boy inquisitively, his heart immediately pounding behind his ribs. “Car?” He pretended not to know what he was talking about. “What car?”

 

“The one that comes by my house. I’ve seen it around a few times.”

 

“Tell me about it, kid.” Negan wasn’t really too keen on getting the boy involved in this situation, but he had to know if it matched the description of the vehicle he had seen yesterday. “What does it look like?”

 

“It’s a black 4x4,” Carl whispered low, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure his dad was still lost in his meaningless conversation. “Maybe a Chevy. More like a Toyota. It’s old. Kinda loud. I told Spencer about it one time, but he didn’t care. Just told me not to tell my dad. Said it would make him upset.”

 

Carl’s words lifted the fine hairs on the back of Negan’s neck. He was certain it was the same vehicle. “Listen to me, Carl. We don’t know for sure yet, but this guy might be out to hurt your dad. Now I’m not gonna let that happen, okay? If you see him on the property again, you come find me. I don’t want you to get anywhere near this guy. He might be dangerous. Do you understand me?”

 

Carl stared up at him, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes for just a moment, then nodded his head. “I understand.”

 

***

 

At the entrance of the restaurant, Rick was saying goodbye to each of his friends, kissing some, hugging others. Negan stood next to him with Shane at his other side. 

 

Rick leaned in to whisper something in the ear of a beautiful woman wearing a tight cocktail dress. They both turned to eye Negan up and down before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

 

“I think you’re right,” the woman said with a wink in Rick’s direction. She turned back toward Negan and Shane. “Nice to see you again, Shane.” 

 

Shane nodded politely, even though he knew the woman’s comment was as phony as the boobs that were currently holding up her overpriced dress. “You too, sweetheart.”

 

Negan stayed by Rick’s side as they made their way out through the crowd. 

 

A small girl stepped into their path. “Can I have your autograph?” she asked excitedly, her little hands shaking as she held her book and pen up in Rick's face. 

 

“No, honey.” Negan pushed the girl back with one hand. “I’m afraid that isn’t poss—”

 

“Of course you can.” Rick met Negan’s eyes challengingly. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

 

“Lizzie.”

 

“What a beautiful name,” Rick gushed as he scribbled his name and a few lines of his appreciation in the little girl’s book. 

 

“We’re your biggest fans,” the girl’s mother said, shoving a camera into Shane’s hands. “Would it be okay if we got a quick picture?”

 

Negan watched the bright smile on Shane’s face drop off completely as he quietly complied, taking a picture of his famous brother surrounded by all of his doting fans. 

 

Rick brushed by Negan on his way out of the restaurant, stopping when the two of them were chest to chest. “I’m surprised you didn’t put a bullet in that little girl’s head,” he whispered. “Calm the fuck down, cowboy. She only wanted my autograph. I’m used to this. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing ever does.”

 

While Rick was preoccupied with smiling, waving and hamming it up for the flashing cameras, attracting the usual stares of passersby, Negan held him back with one arm as he scrupulously scanned the streets, looking for anything, anyone who seemed out of place.

 

Uncomprehending to his ways and growing impatient, Abe opened the front door to the limo. “Hey Lethal Weapon, what do you say we grab the bull by the nutsack and get moving here? Me and my freckled ass have a  _ real job _ to do.”

 

Negan took one last look before securing Rick and Carl into the backseat. He was well aware of  the narrow-eyed, objectionable stares Abraham was throwing his way as he slid into the front seat next to him. Choosing to ignore them, he kept his attention on their surroundings. 

 

“Okay, Daryl. We're good to go.”

 

As Daryl pulled the limo out and headed off in the direction of Rick’s house, Abraham turned to Negan. “Let me to set you straight about a few things, Negan.” Abe’s voice was angry, but softened to a near whisper. “For starters, I love this man. Love him like he's my own family. Everything I do for him, I do out of love. I’m not some hired fucking gun who’s out to dick every plan he makes. And I’m not being paid to make his life miserable. His happiness is my number one concern.”

 

As Negan half-listened to Abraham's rant, his eyes darted to the passenger side mirror. His blood ran like ice water through his veins. A vehicle matching the profile of the black 4x4 he and Carl had seen around Rick's house appeared to be following them from some distance back. 

 

In the backseat, Rick talked and laughed over the sound of one of his songs playing through the speakers while he worked away, autographing a stack of photos for his fans. “Here,” he blurted, dividing the pictures and tossing them into Shane and Spencer’s laps. “Sign some of these with ‘Much love, Rick’ for me. My hand is cramping up.”

 

“I do things the way  _ he  _ likes them,” Abraham continued. “He tells me I’m wrong, I listen.”

 

“No problem,” Negan offered, still concentrating on the mirror. “I’d like to know the way you handle things, Abe.”

 

“I handle things just fine. You stick with me long enough, watch me, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

 

“Turn right here,” Negan said to Daryl. “Do it now.”

 

“Think that’s him?” Daryl asked, turning right as instructed, looking at the car through the rearview mirror. “That the guy?”

 

Unsure, Negan shook his head.

 

“What in the holy hell is going on?” Abraham demanded.

 

“Just taking a shortcut,” Negan answered coolly, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention to the vehicle that may or may not have been pursuing them. 

 

But every turn the limo made, the 4x4 followed. 

 

“Slow down,” Negan whispered to Daryl as they pulled into the foot of Rick’s half-mile driveway, ignoring the confused expression on Abraham’s face. “Nice and slow.”

 

As the car slowed down and came to a complete stop, Rick and Spencer looked up from the picture signing. 

 

“Why are we stopping here?” Spencer questioned. “Something wrong with the car?”

 

Behind them, through the rear window, Carl spotted the black Toyota.  _ It’s him.  _ Unbuckling his seatbelt as fast as he could, he clambered up into his father’s lap, wrapping himself around him in a protective manner. “ _ Dad _ ,” he whimpered.

 

Unsure of what had upset his son, Rick did the only thing he could think of, he hugged him back. “Everything's okay, Carl. Probably just engine trouble. I promise.” 

 

“It's okay, bud.” Shane looked around while rubbing Carl's back to comfort him. “Uncle Shane’s here, too. You’re alright.”

 

Noticing the limousine had stopped ahead of him, the driver of the Toyota made a sudden, tire-screeching left turn, disappearing behind them.

 

“Take the car up to the house.” Negan opened the door and looked to Daryl. “Get Rick and Carl inside and lock them in Rick’s bedroom. Don’t let them out until I come and get them my fucking self. Got it?”

 

Daryl nodded as Negan took off on foot. Jumping a hedge, he ran through the lawn as fast as his long legs would carry him, racing to get to the other driveway. 

 

As Daryl entered the gate where the workmen were constructing a new fence, Rick watched Negan as he ran like a wild man across his property.  _ What the fuck is he doing now?  _ he thought to himself, still consoling his son. 

 

Erupting through a group of thick bushes, Negan caught a glimpse of the black Toyota through the trees. “Hey!” he shouted. The driver accelerated and sped away, too far ahead for Negan to get his license plate number. 

 

Breaking into a full run, Negan headed to the other end of the property. Crashing through hedges and tropical vegetation, he scrambled down a steep wooded slope. Running along the  length of a retaining wall overlooking the road below, he kept the vehicle in his sights. 

 

Getting ahead of it, and without a second thought, Negan jumped from the fourteen-foot drop of the wall as the car continued to speed beneath him. Hitting the ground hard, he allowed his knees to take the the force of the fall, rolling once before landing in an upright, crouched position in the middle of the road. 

 

The Toyota, roaring past him, narrowly missing him, zipped away and turned the corner. He was gone. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ !” 

 

Righting himself, Negan brushed the dirt and dust off of his suit pants, avoiding the tender flesh of his bruising knees. 

 

He looked back up to Rick's estate on the hill. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, he wondered if, maybe this time, he had bitten off more than he could chew.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

After a long, strenuous workout of swimming laps in the brutal Georgia heat, the only thing left on Rick’s agenda was to was climb out, collapse into his chaise lounge beside of the pool and relax, while he and the hot sun worked on maintaining his glorious tan.

 

With a fresh coat of suntan oil, he was set to do just that. 

 

As he went to put his earbuds in to listen to some of the tracks he cut last week for his new album, he heard Carl’s voice. Looking down the hill, he spotted him. He was engaged in a discussion with Negan about some kind of security device. 

 

“What’s this thing?” Carl asked, peering up at Negan expectantly. “Is it some kind of spy gadget?”

 

Negan smiled. He loved the way Carl got excited over every little detail. “This is a surv kit—a  _ surveillance  _ kit,” he reiterated. “This earpiece allows me to keep in contact with my people.” Squatting down, so that he was eye-level with the boy, he showed him how it worked. “See this? This is called a push-to-talk microphone. When I need to tell someone something, I push this button and speak. When they talk back, I’m the only one who can hear what they say.”

 

“Cool! Can I try it?”

 

“Sure you can, kid.” 

 

Rick smiled warmly as he watched Negan carefully clip the device to the back of Carl’s collar and place the earpiece in his ear. It was good to see his son interacting with someone. The boy didn’t have many friends. None he got to see on a regular basis, anyway. He was always so bored. So lonely. 

 

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Rick as he thought about how he was always too busy to spend any real time with him. Carl was forever asking him to do things with him. With  _ just _ him. No Hershel, no Spencer to tag along with them. 

 

It didn’t take that guilt long before it transformed into a rush of jealousy. Rick was free right now, yet Carl chose to spend his time with Negan.  _ Negan. _ A man he barely knew. His smile vanished, his eyes watering as he watched the two of them connect and continue to bond with each other.

 

The more he watched and listened, the more his hurt and resentment grew. Shoving his earbuds into his ears, he started his music and closed his eyes. Before the first note could play, the squealing howl of a drill bit forcing its way through metal made Rick jump and fall out of his lounge chair in a frightened panic. 

 

“Shut the fuck up with all that goddamn noise!” he screamed at the workers, as they continued to tighten screws and install electrical wiring. “Stop it! Stop it!” he stomped. “I’m trying to relax!”

 

“I’m sorry,” one man finally answered. “But we’re on a deadline here. Besides, we take our orders from Negan.” 

 

“This is  _ my  _ house you fucking piece of— ” 

 

The man flipped a switch, testing the sound of an alarm, drowning out the rest of his rant. Grabbing his phone, Rick angrily typed out a message and hit send before storming inside, flipping off the worker who just wolf whistled their appreciation of his wet, skin-tight, low-rise swim shorts.

 

***

 

Carl tagged along with Negan as he made sure everything was operating smoothly in the newly-built security booth outside the gate of Rick’s property. It was to be manned by an armed, uniformed guard both day and night. Carl was mesmerized by the impressive array of knobs, switches and buttons displayed on the control panel. 

 

“What does this one do, Negan?” 

 

“Well, why don’t you give her a push and find out, kid.”

 

“For real?” Carl’s face and eyes lit up with pure joy. He wasted no time. Giving the big gray button a good slap, he rocked back on his heels and waited to see what it would do. 

 

“ _ Wow _ !” he voiced, his small body trembling with excitement. 

The new security gate, in all of its massive glory, opened right before eyes, sliding back into the recesses of the impenetrable wall in well-oiled silence. 

 

“Look,” Carl said, pointing to one of the screens in the wall of security monitors. “It’s Hershel.” His immaculate black Mercedes was charging its way toward the gate. “Can I let him in, Negan? Can I?”

 

“I don’t see why not. You’re already a pro at this gig. I should just let you be in charge,” he joked with a wink. 

 

Giving the button another whack, the gate opened and Hershel’s convertible sped its way up the winding driveway, kicking up dust as it rounded each curve. Carl sat there, shaking his head in exasperation. He’s seen all of this before. “Uh oh. Dad’s not in a good mood. I can tell by the way Hershel’s driving.” 

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so.” He looked up at Negan, a perfectly serious expression lining his face. “My dad’s sure got him by the balls, huh?”

 

Trying to keep a straight face, Negan squelched a smile at the boy.  _ Where in the hell did he learn that? _ “Your daddy makes him nervous, doesn’t he?”

 

Carl nodded.

 

“Yeah. He makes me nervous, too. I better head on up there and see if anything’s wrong.”

  
  


***

 

Shane, who was busy cutting up an assortment of ripe berries and bananas at the bar, listened to Rick as he loudly voiced his anger and frustration toward Negan, the workmen around his house, their disrespect for him and his wishes, and the constant noise when he was trying to relax.

 

“I want him out of here!” Rick was so tense, the veins in his neck bulged as he yelled. “I fucking mean it!”

 

“What is it now?” Hershel asked, massaging the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, hoping to ward off whatever degree of headache Rick’s shouting would undoubtedly trigger.

 

“And all of his goddamn flunkies, too!”

 

“Negan told him no more Sunday brunch at The Canoe,” Shane answered.

 

“Sunday  _ brunch _ ?” Hershel questioned. “You called me all the way out here for that?”

 

“That’s not the fucking point!” Rick growled, grabbing a handful of fruit, throwing it into the blender. “I've had it! It’s  _ my _ money,  _ my  _ house and  _ my  _ life! I want him out of here!”

 

Hershel sighed heavily. Sometimes, rather than a music manager, he felt like the father of an immature, out of control teenager. “Where is he?”

 

Using the point of his knife, Shane gestured to the glass patio door. “He’s walking this way.”

 

“He’s through fucking with my life, Hershel!”

 

“And I’m getting goddamn sick of running up here every time he steps on your toes too, Rick. You're giving me an ulcer.” Hershel opened the back door leading out to the patio. “Negan. Can you come in here a minute?”

 

“Think you’ve got problems?” Spencer said, ending his phone call and butting into the conversation. “I barely made it past the security gate this afternoon.  _ Me _ ! Can you believe that shit?”

 

“Did you have an appointment?” Negan asked, sliding the patio door closed behind him.

 

“That supposed to be funny?” Spencer asked, sizing Negan up.

 

“What is this I hear about brunch at The Canoe?” Hershel put himself between Spencer and Negan before things could escalate into something physical. “Rick’s been going there every Sunday for the last two years.”

 

“And that’s a problem,” Negan offered. “I don’t want him doing anything he’s always done. We’re trying to avoid the obvious, here.”

 

“ _ I don’t want him doing anything he’s always done _ !” Rick mocked with a serious, haughty tone in his voice. “The man’s a goddamned fanatic!”

 

“So are the people he’s trying to protect you from Rick,” Hershel insisted.

 

“Well excuse the hell out of me if I don’t faint.” Rick slammed a fistful of ice on top of his fruit and almond milk. 

 

“Think about your son,” Shane argued. “What about Ca—” 

 

Rick cranked the blender on full speed, drowning out anything else Shane had to say. Negan looked at him coolly. Rick returned his gaze with a petulant stare.

 

When the whirring of the blender stopped, Hershel threw his hands up in the air. “What do you want from my life, Rick? I’m an old man.”

 

“I want some peace and quiet around here! I want to be able to relax by my pool! I want to be able to sleep past 9 o'clock in the fucking morning without a goddamn drill waking me up!”

 

With beseeching eyes, Hershel turned to Negan.

 

“We’re almost done,” Negan assured. “They should be out of here by the end of the day. Sooner if we stop getting interrupted.”   
  
“ _ And… _ ” Rick had to have the last word, the final say-so in the matter. “I want to be able to eat brunch with my friends.”

 

Negan stood firm, throwing Rick an unrelenting glare. “So then go to brunch on Tuesdays. You’re  _ not  _ going on Sunday anymore.” 

 

***

 

Rick’s limousine sat parked outside of The Scavengers, a local thrift shop in a distinctly downscale area of Atlanta. Rick had been friends with the owner for years. He shopped here, not only to help out his friend, but because he never failed to find something that looked good on him. Even though he had all the money in the world, he didn’t bother to care about things like price tags and whose name was on the label. If he liked it, he bought it.

 

“Jadis!” Rick’s strong voice rang buoyantly through the shop, clothes hangers screeching as they slid across the metal rack. “Damn you got some good stuff in here this week!”

 

“Take it all,” Jadis laughed, hanging an outfit in the storefront picture window for display, hoping to boost her sales. “I can always count on you, Rick. Most people come through here and turn their noses up, acting as if they were actually picking through my garbage or something.”

 

“Not me. I love this place. It’s a treasure trove of vintage shit just waiting to be found.”

 

Negan stood near Rick, his arms crossed and his eyes focused, scanning the expanse of the store and the street outside as people walked by.

 

“Hot damn!” Rick found a pair of jeans that demanded his attention. “I gotta try these on. They look like they were tailor-made to hug the curves of my ass perfectly.” For his own amusement, he turned his backside to Negan, offering him a little wiggle. “What do you think?” Flicking a glance over his shoulder, he could see that Negan’s eyes, instead of being on him, were locked on the front of the store, watching Daryl and Abe horse around with a few kids excited over the limo.

 

Walking into a makeshift changing booth, a curtain on a string nailed to both sides of an old door frame, Rick tried one more time to get the attention of this hard-headed man. “You wanna come in here with me?” he asked, adding a hint of flirtation to his tone while lifting the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal his tanned abs. “Just to make sure I’m safe?”

 

This time, Negan took the bait and turned around. Giving Rick a quick sweep with his eyes, he swallowed hard before quickly turning back to resume his surveillance of the shop and street. 

 

“You’ll probably find this hard to believe,” Rick said, drawing the curtain closed, his head bobbing in and out of sight as he took his clothes off. “But in this industry, I have a reputation for being a bit of a pain in the ass.”

 

Without a word, Negan’s suggestive expression told Rick that he didn’t find that information hard to believe at all.

 

“I wasn’t always like this. But you get known for being a certain way, a way people think you are, before you know it, it just becomes second nature. It becomes who you are. Can’t help it.” He looked up, catching the reflection of Negan’s shrewd smirk in the mirror. “Oh, so you don’t think so? You’re such an authority on celebrities, huh?”

 

“I’ve seen a few.”

 

“And you disagree?”   
  
“You can be as you choose to be,” Negan stated, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. “It’s an act of discipline for some, but it can be done.”

 

“Is that why you bounce from client to client? They’re too  _ undisciplined _ for you? Or, could the real reason be, you’re afraid you might start to care about them? Get too close?”

 

“Sure,” Negan agreed, looking for an end to this conversation.

 

“Can’t you answer straight just once?” Rick asked, frustration beginning to bud in his voice. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

 

“I can’t keep up with you,” Negan answered without interest, his eyes lingering on the front door. “You’re way too clever for me.”

 

“Look at me, goddammit!”

 

Angrily, with his mouth set, Negan turned. With their gazes locked and both of their chests heaving for air, they were in a stand-off. 

 

Rick wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to being pushed back, having his limits tested. When he wanted something, he always got it. This guy was just toying with him. He had to be. Pushing his buttons to see how far he would bend before he finally cracked.

 

“You don’t approve of me, do you?” Rick questioned, finally breaking the silence and tension. “You don’t like me.”

 

“Disapproval is a luxury I can’t afford, Rick. It gets in the way.”

 

“And you’re probably the type of person who doesn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure too, right? Don’t like emotions getting to you, huh?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Fair enough,” Rick relented. He motioned to a denim jacket on the rack in front of Negan. “Would you at least hand me that jacket? And the blue shirt right next to it?”

 

Negan glanced at the shirt and jacket, then turned back to the window. “You’re paying me to keep you alive, Rick… not to help you shop and make sure your, how’d you put it, your  _ curvy ass _ is hugged by a fucking pair of blue jeans.”

 

Fuming, Rick whipped the curtain back and walked out of the changing booth wearing nothing but a small pair of red, no-show bikini briefs. After grabbing the clothes off of the rack himself, he brushed by Negan and stormed back into the booth, jerking the curtain shut behind him.

 

Negan relaxed a bit, a victorious smile playing across his face.

 

***

 

Lit by the glow of the TV, Negan, still dressed in his black suit and tie, was sitting alone in his room by the pool. He was watching Rick’s music videos through his VEVO channel. On his lap sat a yellow legal pad. He had been jotting down some of the lyrics that jumped out at him, hoping they might offer some type of insight to the threatening letters. 

 

The videos, so far, had all been loud, flashy and sexually charged presentations, overdone and exaggerated in a painfully obvious manner. But when Rick’s image appeared on the screen for the next video, Negan knew this one would be different.

 

The lighting, the colors, his surroundings, everything about it was aesthetically pleasing. Muted and understated in the most beautiful way. Negan felt himself being pulled forward, closer to the screen as Rick started singing softly, passionately into the camera.

 

_ I know that when you look at me _

_ There's so much that you just don't see _

_ But if you would only take the time _

_ I know in my heart you'd find _

_ A man is scared sometimes _

_ He isn't always strong _

_ Can't you see the hurt in me? _

_ I feel so all alone _

 

Negan looked at the screen as if he were seeing Rick for the very first time. An unruffled blue-eyed brunette who, for a moment, seemed to be singing only to him. His hair, natural, and his beautiful eyes free from the black smudges of eyeliner he normally wore. The sass and the ego, all gone. It was just…  _ him _ .

  
  


_ Each day, each day I play the role _

_ Of someone always in control _

_ But at night I come home and turn the key _

_ There's nobody there, no one cares for me _

_ What's the sense of trying hard to find your dreams _

_ Without someone to share it with _

_ Tell me what does it mean? _

  
  


The lyrics, they felt so genuine. And the heartache that accompanied them, he just seemed so—so vulnerable, so helpless. Like he’d been hurt. His heart shattered. He knew Rick was good at his job, the man could sing and act his way through any situation, but this wasn’t the kind of pain a person could emulate, it was the kind you survived.

  
  


***

 

Rick’s bedroom, compared to the ridiculous display Spencer had designed for the magazine shoot, was surprisingly bare and simple. Besides the basic necessities, the room was almost empty, save for a handful of awards that were near and dear to his heart.

 

“Are you almost finished?” Rick asked, examining himself in the mirror.

 

Jesus was standing behind him at the vanity, fussing over his hair, putting each and every strand into place by hand. As always, Rick refused to accept anything less than perfect.

 

“I still have to get dressed, Jesus. I’m running late as it is. Spencer didn’t tell me about this thing until last minute. I’m tired. I was hoping to go to bed early tonight.”

 

“You could always say no. I mean, you are the star, are you not?”

 

“I know,” Rick agreed with a tired sigh. “But, you have to admit, he’s helped me make a lot of money.”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Jesus hummed, attempting to sound sympathetic.  _ He’s made himself quite a bit, too.  _ Jesus knew Spencer was just using Rick as his own personal golden goose, but he didn’t dare say it out loud. “He’s a good businessman, I’ll give him th—”

 

“Shh!” Rick looked up from the mirror, his ears picking up on something. Music.  _ His  _ music. But where was it coming from?

 

Walking over to the bedroom window, he looked over the moonlit property. The TV light flickering in Negan’s guest room caught his eye. Rick could see the image of his own face on the screen. Negan was sitting on the edge of the chair, his hand stretched out to touch the TV as he sang.

 

_ Won't you hold me in your arms _

_ And keep me safe from harm _

 

_ I wanna run to you _

_ But if I come to you _

_ Tell me, will you stay _

_ Or will you _

_ Run away _

 

_ I need you here _

_ I need you here to wipe away my tears _

_ To kiss away my fears _


	5. Chapter 5

“The hell’s this thing for?” Daryl asked, his brows knitted together in question as he turned and examined the absurdly-long handled mirror.

 

“Get down here. I’ll show you.” Negan, wearing a freshly pressed suit to accompany Rick on his dinner date tonight, got down on all fours in the dusty driveway. “This is an inspection mirror.” He touched a button at the base of the handle, blinding Daryl temporarily with its bright lights. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “I want this car checked each and every time Rick or Carl gets into it. No excuses.” Angling the mirror just right, he showed him how to check the underside of the limo thoroughly.

 

“I can do that,” Daryl assured him. “But, what exactly are we checking  for ?”

 

“A bomb,” Negan answered casually, as if it were a normal, everyday occurance to check under a car for explosives. In his world, it was. 

 

Daryl stared back at him wildly.

 

“Don’t worry,” Negan laughed, waving off his panicked expression. “I already checked. What you wanna do is keep an eye out for wires, timers, batteries... anything that looks like it’s not supposed to be there. Hold it right there… good. Now push it in deeper. Move it around a little like—wait, wait. What the fuck?”

 

In the mirror’s reflection, Negan could see Rick walking toward the limo. He was wearing skin-tight leather pants, an asymmetrical crop top and belly chains. He was definitely not dressed for a dinner date. Hershel, Spencer and Abraham were all by his side.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Negan hissed. “Spencer said he was just going out to eat dinner with a new friend.”

 

Daryl shrugged. “I thought so, too. Rick's been raving about it all day.”

 

Negan jumped up and turned to Spencer. “What the hell is this? You said it was just a date. Are we going somewhere else?”

 

“Change of plans,” Spencer replied, as if it pained to do so. “We’re going to The Sanctuary.  _ It’s a club _ ,” he added, annoyed by the question still lingering in Negan’s eyes. 

 

“Spencer, I told you, you have to tell me about these fucking things.”

 

“I just did,” Spencer mumbled, ducking into the car. “Consider yourself told.”

 

“That’s not what I—”

 

Rick spun Negan around on his heels, looking him up and down, brushing the dust off of his knees and jacket. “Nice suit.”

 

As he moved to get into the backseat of car, Negan took him by the arm and pulled him back. “Hang on a sec.” Retrieving a small box from his jacket pocket, he placed its contents into Rick’s hand, folding his fingers over it carefully. “I—I want you to keep this.”

 

Curious, Rick opened his hand to see what it was. “It’s beautiful,” he praised, both flattery and confusion coloring his voice as he examined the small, Orthodox-type cross. “And you—you’re giving this to me?”

 

“It’s fitted with a radio transmitter. When you push this button, it sends out a signal. If you ever have a problem and we get separated, just press it... and I’ll know you need me.”

 

Rick stared at the cross for a long moment, then back to Negan. He wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn’t come. “Negan, I… ”  

 

“Okay,” Spencer grumbled, sticking his head out of the limousine. “He knows how the fucking thing works. Can we go now?”

 

***

 

_ “You’re listening to Q100 in Atlanta. If you just crawled out from under a rock, you’re probably just now hearing who the mystery guest is playing at The Sanctuary tonight.” _

 

Negan reached out in front of Abraham, turning the volume up on the radio.

 

_ “That’s right. Rick Grimes is making a very special appearance at the club this evening, but if you don’t have a ticket to this completely sold out event, don’t bother showing up. Sorry folks, but the APD has kindly asked us to kindly ask you to stay away. There’s already a mob of people wrapping around the club. So, everyone stay cool, and we’ll try to get an interview after the show. Remember, you heard it here on Q100—the station that delivers.” _

 

Turning in his seat, Negan glared back at Spencer.

 

“It wasn’t me,” he mouthed with a smartass shrug of his shoulders, a smug smirk shadowing his lips.

 

They could hear the clamor of the crowd before the limo rounded the corner. As they pulled up to the club, the crowd went insane, pouring out of the building, off of the sidewalks and into the streets. 

 

_ “Rick!”  _ they screamed, crawling on the hood, pounding on the windows and the doors, some going as far as trying to open them.  _ “Rick!” _

 

“Goddammit,” Negan whispered to himself, Spencer celebrating with uncontrolled elation in the backseat. “Daryl, just keep the car moving.”

 

“Man, if I go any further, I’m gonna end up running one of these crazy sons of bitches over out in front of me. Look at this.”

 

He was right. The car was surrounded twenty deep by rabid, screaming fans, all bloodthirsty for a taste of the man in the backseat.  _ “Rick! Rick! Rick!”  _ The ones in the back were pushing and shoving, trying to get closer to the car. In the middle of the chaos, fist fights began to break out. Noses were being bloodied, lips were being split. This was insane.

 

Security managed to push back and cordon off the horde of frenzied, Rick-hungry fans, allowing Negan to exit the front of the limo and open the backdoor. Spencer hopped out first, accepting the sudden outburst of piercing cries and thunderous applause for himself, waving back to the crowd as if they had shown up there to see  _ him _ .

 

Negan looked to Rick. He seemed, for the first time since meeting him, nervous. His eyes were closed and his head was back. His lips moved as he recited a silent chant to himself over and over and over, followed by some sort of breathing exercise. 

 

But, the second he exited the limousine, he went into full-on celebrity mode, a wide, show-biz smile unfurling from ear to ear. 

 

Protectively sandwiched between Spencer and Hershel, with Abraham in the front and Negan following close behind him, Rick made his entrance.

 

The crowd exploded into cheers and applause, high-pitched, ear-splitting whistles echoed from every direction as he walked by, cameras flashing left and right.

 

“Hello!” he cried out, waving and connecting personally to as many fans as he could while being rushed into the building. “Hi! Thank you so much! I love you all!”

 

“Rick!” A heavyset man, who managed to outsmart the guards and break through the barrier, was moving toward Rick at high rate of speed. “Seriously, you’re so hot! I am indeed your greatest fan! I currently possess every single one of your albums, and I must confess, an illegally obtained copy of your movie!”

 

With his wits sharp and his reflexes fast, Negan swept in and grabbed the man by his belt loop with one hand, a handful of his dark mullet with the other, fluidly guiding him back across and under the cordon, right into the arms of a waiting security guard.

 

Rick entered the building and was ushered to a room fit for a star’s arrival. Flower arrangements and gifts sitting on every surface that would hold them, some so big, they had to be placed in the floor.

 

“Wait!” Negan thundered, stopping Rick in his tracks. “You stand right here.” Before letting him anywhere near the flowers and gifts, he scanned each and every one of them with a handheld magnetometer. 

 

Rick stood grimly by the open door, his arms crossed over his chest and an irritated expression twisting his features. “Don’t you think this is a bit much?” He watched on, Negan ignoring him, continuing to work diligently. His expression softened. “Could—could I have a few minutes to myself before I have to go out there? I wasn’t exactly prepared for this.”

 

“Sure,” Negan answered, scanning the last of the gifts for explosives. “I was told you had a date tonight. Well I mean, I was told that you were going out to dinner. I just assumed… ” 

 

“I did. I was. But, Spencer had me cancel last minute.”

 

“Oh.” Negan cleared his throat “Well, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding someone else to take you out. Not  _ you _ ,” he smiled. 

 

“Yeah.” Rick blinked at the floor, his arms still crossed. “No trouble at all.”

 

“Okay. I’ll uh—I’ll just be outside the door here.”

 

When the door closed, Rick sighed heavily and took a seat at the vanity. Forcing himself to look up at the mirror, he found his own eyes in its reflection.  _ I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding someone else to take you out,  _ Negan’s words replayed in his mind.

 

He shook his head and huffed out a strained laugh. If he only knew. If he had any idea how hard it was for him to actually find someone,  _ anyone  _ who was interested in getting to know him for who he really was. 

 

People were fascinated, obsessed with the persona that Spencer had created. They only showed up for Rick Grimes the star. No one cared about Rick Grimes the person. He was forgotten. Pushed aside. His biggest fear was that Rick the person would completely disappear someday. That he, himself, would forget about him.

 

No. He couldn’t start this. Not right now. He had to shake this off. Get his mind back to what he was supposed to be doing. He looked at the clock. He was set to go onstage in fifteen minutes.

 

A small spray of white lilies sitting on the vanity caught his eye. No one has ever sent him white lilies. Wasn’t that considered the flower of death? After taking a closer look, he noticed a long, business-type envelope marked  _ “Rick” _ was attached to it.

 

He pulled it out and opened it, feeling his blood run cold as he read the words that were pasted on the letter.

 

**_RICK_ **

 

**_YOU HAVE EVERYTHING_ **

**_I HAVE NOTHING_ **

**_PREPARE YOUR SOUL FOR DEATH_ **

**_THE TIME TO DIE IS UPON YOU_ **

 

***

 

Negan’s eyes were carefully searching and observing the crush of people hanging out around Rick’s dressing room. A few feet away from him, Spencer was being shouted at.

 

“This is my exclusive?” An irate journalist looked to be ready to rip him to shreds. “You promised me I would have a sit-down exclusive with him! I want my fucking interview!”

 

“Look,” Spencer said, his hands defensively thrown in the air. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I swear, I thought he’d do it. Maybe he’ll talk to you later.”

 

Hershel joined Negan by the door, leaning on it for support. “This was all Spencer’s idea. Rick normally doesn’t do this kind of place. But he thinks it’ll be good for the music video.”

 

The dressing room door was pulled open so fast, Hershel nearly fell in with it.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Rick’s hands were shaking, his eyes brimming with tears. “Tell me this is just a sick joke.”

 

Noticing the commotion, Spencer followed them into the room, Negan closed it behind them.

 

Hershel took the letter. After reading it, he handed it to Negan. “He sent another one.” 

 

“Another one?” Rick questioned, immediately picking up on his words. “What are you talking about. What do you mean  _ another one _ ?”

 

Negan cut his eyes sharply toward Spencer. “He didn’t tell you, did he? No. Of course he fucking didn’t.”

 

“Didn’t tell me what? Hershel. Spencer. Talk to me. Please. Tell me what’s happening.”

 

Spencer clenched his jaw, scrubbing his hands through his hair anxiously. “Rick…”

 

“There were some letters before,” Hershel sighed. “Same kind of thing. Threats. A lot of crackpot shit, oddball stuff.”

 

Spencer got down on bended knee, putting his hands affectionately on Rick’s shoulders. “We didn’t want to worry you.” He spoke to him like he was a child. 

 

Rick pushed him away, unwilling to accept what he was hearing.

 

“And,” Hershel continued, Spencer’s eyes wordlessly begging him not to finish his sentence. “This guy, we think he's the same one who's sending the letters, he… he got inside the house.”

 

“ _ What? _ ” Rick started to panic, hyperventilating with fear and shock. “Someone was in my house?”

 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Spencer pleaded. “Let’s not get hysterical.”

 

“We need to get you out of here, Rick.” Negan’s words fell on deaf ears.

 

“Someone was in my house?”

 

“It was weeks ago,” Spencer defended. “You were out of town.”

 

“Was Carl home? Oh God, my son!”

  
  
“Listen to me,” Spencer continued. “Carl is fine. The house is like Fort Knox, now. Isn’t that right, Negan?”

 

“We need to get him out of here,” Negan insisted, pulling Rick up by the arm. “Right now!”

 

Spencer put a hand against his chest, attempting to push him back down in his seat. “There’s no way anyone could—”

 

“No way anyone could what?” Rick asked, shoving him back.

 

“Everyone calm the hell down,” Spencer said, ushering Rick back to his chair. “Calm down and let’s just see how he is. How are you feeling? Do you think you can sing?”

 

Rick jumped, shaking with fright as the dressing room door broke open. Fans were screaming, fighting, trying to claw their way into his room. A woman got through with another flower arrangement and a giant box of chocolates with Rick’s name glittered on it.

 

Negan eased her back outside with the gifts and looked to the security guard on duty. “Watch the door means no flowers! It means no fucking candy! No one else comes through this door, you got me?”

 

Rick covered his face with his hands, gulping back his sobs. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

 

Hershel didn’t answer him. He couldn’t. 

 

Desperate, Rick turned to Negan. “Do you—do you think he’s out there?”

 

“He might be.”

 

“We don’t know that!” Spencer snapped. “We don’t fucking know that, Negan!”

 

Rick looked up, his eyes full of rage. “But you  _ knew _ he was in my fucking house! Right? That much you knew!”

 

“Let’s get him home,” Hershel said, agreeing with Negan. “We’ll just—we’ll have to make some kind of announcement. We’ll tell them he’s not feeling well.”

 

“Fine,” Spencer growled. “ _ You _ tell them. You go make your goddamned announcement. But you mark my words, if Rick doesn’t get his ass out on that stage and give these people what they came here for, they will tear this fucking place apart!”

 

***

 

_ “Rick! Rick! Rick! Rick!”  _ the crowd chanted loudly, the sound of rhythmic clapping echoing throughout the club. 

 

Nervously, Hershel walked out on the stage, tapping the lone microphone with one finger to see if it was live. “Can I have your attention?”

 

_ “Where’s Rick?” _ one voice shouted, a chorus of boos ringing out from the impatient audience.  _ “We want Rick! We want Rick!” _

 

“Please!” Hershel raised his hands. “I have an announcement to make!”

 

Negan was guiding Rick toward the exit, where Daryl was waiting with the limousine, when another outburst from the audience chanting his name started. _ “Rick! Rick! Rick!” _

 

His features were etched with fear and humiliation. “Wait, wait.” He stopped. “I said wait!” Could he really walk away from all of his devoted fans? Was he honestly about to call this off, disappointing all of  _ them  _ because of one lunatic? “No.” He wrenched his arm free from Negan’s tight grip, stopping just short of the exit. “I’m not leaving.”

 

“Don’t do it, Rick. It’s not worth it. You don’t have to—”

 

“You’re wrong. I do. I owe it to  _ them _ .” Rick ran in the opposite direction, Negan following close behind him. “I’m not letting one fucking psychopath chase me off the stage!”   

 

“I’m sorry,” Hershel spoke into the microphone, still attempting to calm the unruly crowd. “But due to circumstances beyond our control—” A vast gush of applause from the audience confused him. He looked around.

 

Rick, hiding his nervousness well, was standing next to him on the stage. He was beaming, clapping back to the wildly excited audience. 

 

Hershel bowed his head and stepped away from the mic. 

 

“Hershel Greene, everybody!” Rick gestured in his direction. “How’s everyone out there doing tonight?” The audience erupted into cheers and whistles. “They tell me I’m supposed to sing a song for you guys. Would you like that?” As expected, the crowd roared its approval. 

 

“Change of plans,” Negan spoke to Daryl through the microphone in his sleeve. “We’re not coming. Rick’s doing the damn show after all. Stay put.”

 

“Copy.”

 

As the house lights dimmed and the loud, energetic music started, Rick’s fingers began to tremble around the microphone. Looking to his right, he snatched a quick glance at Negan. Masking his obvious fear, he started to sing, moving around on the stage with the music.

 

_ I've got the stuff that you want _

_ I've got the thing that you need _

_ I've got more than enough _

_ To make you drop to your knees _

 

In the wings, Spencer approached Negan, purposefully and combatively positioning himself between him and his view of Rick. “Are we having a bit of a communication problem?”

 

“ _ What? _ ” Negan stepped to his right for a better view of the stage and audience. Spencer moved with him.

 

“Apparently I didn’t make it clear to you how things operate around here.”

 

“Believe me, I  _ know  _ how you operate.” Despite the distraction Spencer was trying to cause, Negan kept doing his job, his vigilance to Rick unwavering. “You fucking told me that you were going to tell him about the threats. You didn’t.”

 

“I didn’t know how he would handle it.”

 

In spite of his growing irritation, Negan chose to ignore Spencer, continuing to watch the show over his shoulder. Rick seemed to be soothed by the tremendous admiration from his audience, his fear quickly diminishing.

 

“Look, I know what you’re saying. I know you want what’s best for him. I get that. I do. It’s your job. But you have to understand that Rick has a job to do, too. That’s what he’s doing out there, right now. He’s working, Negan. That’s what he does, and that’s where he does it. He’s hot right now. This is  _ his  _ time to shine. If he doesn’t get out there, he’s dead. To hell with the fucking death threats. If he doesn’t perform, he’s dead anyway. Between you and me, this little stunt, if handled properly, could be worth millions in free publicity.”

 

That did it. Something inside of Negan snapped. He grabbed Spencer by the collar and slammed him up against the wall behind him. “One word!”

 

“It could clinch his nomination, Negan.”

 

“One fucking word to the public about any of this,” Negan seethed, tightening his grip, pushing him harder against the wall. “And I’ll gut you my goddamn self. You got me? You’re not using that man for a fucking sympathy vote.”

 

Spencer nodded, clutching Negan’s wrists and gasping for air. 

 

Hearing the crowd explode with a renewed level of excitement, Negan’s attention was back on Rick. He was feeling the music. 

 

_ You've got a problem with the way that I am _

_ They say I'm trouble and I don't give a damn _

 

The noise from the audience was like a stimulant to Rick. He wasn’t anxious anymore. He was feeding off of it. Getting a little too close to the edge of the stage, baiting his fans, teasing them and eating up their reaction.

 

One man was attempting to climb the stage. Without hesitation, Negan surged forward, knocking him back into the audience. He watched as another fan tried to climb up on the other side. Abraham darted out, pushing him back to the floor.

 

As Rick danced on the edge of the stage, another audience member made his way up. Negan and Abraham tackled him, but Rick put his hands out, telling them to back off and let the man go. While he danced erotically with the lucky fan, bumping and grinding their bodies together, sinking to his knees, many others took that as all the permission needed to storm the stage.

 

Negan’s eyes went from face to face, his job now impossible as a forest of hands engulfed Rick on stage. Any one of these people could be the killer. He had to get him out of there. He started grabbing people, body slamming them left and right, Abraham following suit. 

 

Before they could clear a path and get to him, Rick was hit with a stray elbow. He lost his balance and tumbled off the front of the stage, right into the arms of his crazed, touch-hungry fans. Negan watched in horror as they passed him back, deeper into the crowd over their heads, his clothes being torn in the process. Abraham and the security guards threw themselves into the middle of the melee, fighting them off just to reach him.

 

Negan spotted a fire extinguisher in the wings. Grabbing it, he rushed to centerstage. Using the butt-end of it, he knocked several people out of his way. He could hear Rick screaming, begging for help over the roar of the crowd. Aiming the fire extinguisher at the people between Rick and the stage, he sprayed them with the chemical foam, scattering them enough to make a path.

 

He jumped to the floor to find Rick crumpled in the floor. He was battered and beaten, but he was breathing.

 

“Rick,” Negan said softly, brushing his hair out of his face. He was unconscious.

 

Scooping his limp body up from the floor, he carried him toward the exit. The same mullet-wielding man he had dealt with earlier jumped out in front of him, trying to block his way. 

 

“Please. Just let me touch him.”

 

Struggling to hold onto Rick’s heavy lifeless frame, Negan kicked him, sending him sprawling into the foam-covered floor.

 

He turned around, looking for Abraham. He was fighting his way to the other exit, unaware that Negan had instructed Daryl to move the limo to the other side of the building. “This way, Abraham!”

 

“Follow me!” Abe shouted, unable to hear Negan over the chaos. “I’ll take care of this!”

 

Negan couldn’t chance going back for him  _ or  _ to look for Spencer and Hershel. His only concern right now was Rick and getting him to safety. 

 

Abe made it to the exit, bursting through the door like a bull, only to discover there was no limo waiting. Confused, he looked behind him to question Negan and Rick, but they weren’t there either.

 

Negan carried Rick to the limousine where Daryl was standing by, shock and horror warping his face as he took in the sight.

 

“What the hell happened?”

 

“Help me get him into the car,” Negan gasped, struggling to catch his breath as a very confused Rick was beginning to come to.

 

With a screech of tires, the limousine peeled out of the parking lot, narrowly missing Spencer as he staggered out of the building.

 

“Hey! What the fuck? Negan! Get back here!

 

The car sped away, skidding around the corner before its taillights disappeared completely, leaving Spencer stranded in helpless fury, Abraham confused about everyone’s whereabouts on the other side, and Hershel, still lost somewhere inside the building.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The rain was coming down straight and heavy. Lightning flashed on the horizon and the sound of distant thunder rumbled in the air. The fast-moving blades of the wipers squeaked and squawked, racing back and forth across the windshield, sweeping away a constantly renewing curtain of water.

 

“He need to go to the hospital?” Daryl asked, concerned eyes darting between the blurred lines on the road out in front of him, and Rick’s huddled and disheveled figure in the rearview mirror.

 

Rick was quiet. The tattered remains of his stage clothes did little to cover his upper body. He was bleeding from a cut on his bottom lip and a busted nose, both the result of being dropped to the floor on his face. The lump on his forehead, which took the brunt of the fall, was already blooming with various shades of reds and pinks. He looked so small, so doll-like sitting there. Silent tears, muddy with the stain of his heavy eyeliner, tracked and streaked their way down his expressionless face, dripping off the edge of his jawline as he stared down at the cross in his hand, the cross Negan had given him earlier.

 

“No.” Negan took his jacket off, wrapping it around Rick’s shoulders. “No, he’ll be okay. I think he might be in a little bit of shock, but he’s gonna be okay. He just needs some rest.”

 

***

 

With an arm around him for stability, Negan led Rick through the dark house and helped him up the mansion’s imperial staircase. Before taking him to his room, he opened Carl’s door, thinking he would feel better, maybe have a little peace of mind knowing his son was safe, especially after witnessing his reaction to hearing about the break-in earlier.

 

Rick stood there, staring blankly ahead at the small figure curled up on his side, sleeping soundly in the middle of his big pirate ship bed, protectively surrounded by an infinite collection of toy boats and ships around his room.

 

“Let’s get you settled in, alright?” Negan opened Rick’s door and walked in, checking and double checking that all the locks and latches on the windows and doors to the terrace were securely sealed and bolted. “You’re gonna feel a hell of lot better after a good night’s sleep,” he assured, turning Rick’s bedcovers down. “Now… ” he turned around. “Let’s get you out of those wet—”

 

Rick wasn’t there. Negan walked back to the door. He was still standing in the hallway where he had left him, his expression unchanged since coming to in the limousine.

 

“Rick?” Negan reached out to him cautiously, gently taking him in his arms. He could feel his body tremble, shaking like a leaf against him. “Come on. I’ve got you.” Slowly, holding onto him, he walked him to the bed, easing him down to sit on the edge. “Rick, you can’t sleep in these things. They’re wet and torn. Can you—can you take them off yourself?”

 

Rick glanced down at his clothes, then back to Negan. Seeming to understand, he laid his cross down carefully on the nightstand by his bed. Reaching up, he made an attempt to pull off what was left of his ripped midriff shirt. His hands were shaking, trembling so much with the memories of everything that had happened tonight, with the shock of learning about the threat against his life, he couldn’t do it.

 

Negan exhaled softly. “Is it okay if I help you?”

 

With a small nod granting him consent, Negan ripped apart the remaining threads of his shirt that had managed to survive the assault of countless, souvenir-hungry hands, slipping the wet, ragged garment easily off of his shoulders.

 

Getting down on his knees, he slid a hand up Rick’s leg, holding it in place while he released the long zipper on his knee-high boot. With both boots now set aside, he slipped off his socks.

 

“Come on,” he whispered, nudging at Rick’s thigh. “I’m gonna need you to stand up.”

 

Negan tucked his fingers into the waist of his skin-tight pants, inching them off, peeling the stretchy material down over one hip, then the other, revealing his skimpy black underwear—and a crop of red marks and welts that hadn’t yet matured into bruises.

 

“You hurt anywhere else?” he asked, lifting Rick’s feet out of the legs of his pants. He turned him, examining him closely. “I guess some lucky bastard got away with your body jewelry,” he stated, smoothing his fingers over the area where his belly chains used to be. “Fucker left you with a nasty ass cut when they ripped them off of you, didn’t they?”

 

Rick offered no response, no emotion. Nothing. The fire, that ballsy spirit that set his big blue eyes ablaze when Negan first met him, it was gone. He stared at him, part of him almost wishing he would throw a stouthearted hand on his hip and tell him to go fuck himself. Anything but this.

 

“I’ll go find something and patch you up, then you can get some sleep, okay?”

 

After nosing around in Rick’s bathroom, Negan came out with a glass of water, a bottle of pills with Rick’s name on it, and a few things from a first-aid kit he had found stashed under the counter.

 

“First things first, Rick.” Negan dropped the medical supplies on the bed beside him and opened the bottle of Xanax. “This’ll help you forget about all of this shit so you can rest.” He placed a couple of small blue pills on his tongue, holding the glass of water up for him to sip. “Now, let’s fix the rest of you.”

 

Using his teeth, he ripped open an alcohol wipe, cautiously cleaning the cut on Rick’s side. As morbid as it sounded, he was pleased to hear a hiss of pain slip past Rick’s lips when the stinging antiseptic made contact with his wound. It let him know there was still some fight left in him. After applying some ointment and a bandage, he cleaned the blood and makeup-stained tears off of his face and sat him back down on the bed. “Do you want me to find you some pj’s, maybe a t-shirt to sleep in?”

 

Shaking his head, Rick turned and crawled into bed in his underwear.

 

Negan pulled the blanket and sheet up, adjusting them around him. “You rest now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He switched off the bedside lamp and stood to leave.

 

“Wait.” Rick stopped him, catching him by the wrist, holding him there. “Aren’t you—aren’t you even gonna ask me _why_ I act the way I do?”

 

“I don’t have to,” Negan whispered, looking down at him.

 

He was reminded of the story his grandpa used to tell him when he was little. A story about the chicken farmer who needed to make some fast money. He told him how he built a stage and put a heater under it. When he put his chickens on the stage and turned the heat on, the frantic birds would jump around and flap their wings because the hot platform was burning their feet. People paid him because they thought he had trained his chickens how to dance. If they had known he was using his chickens, causing them to suffer and putting them in danger, would they have still paid him?

 

He had witnessed enough over the last few days to understand that Rick, well he was nothing more to Spencer than his dancing chicken.

 

Offering him a lopsided smile, he carefully pulled the damp tendrils of hair away from the tender bump on his forehead. “I already know why.”

 

Rick’s eyes were heavy as he stared back at him. “I’m scared,” he breathed, shame etching his tired face.

 

“I’m right here. You don’t need to be afraid of anything else happening to you tonight.”

 

Negan sat down in the armchair by the French terrace doors, listening to the overlapping claps of thunder and the wind-driven rain spraying loudly against the panes of glass as the storm raged on outside. He found himself wondering about Hershel. About Abraham. How they would make it home without the limo.

 

And what about Spencer? Was he okay?

 

He looked over at the bed. Rick whimpered as his legs and arms shifted restlessly against the sheets, his exhausted mind and beaten up body stuck somewhere between half awake and half asleep.

 

 _No_ , he thought. _Fuck Spencer_. After pulling this stunt tonight, after nearly costing Rick his life and Carl his father all in the name of free publicity, he deserved to be left out in this storm. He deserved a hell of a lot more—a hell of a lot worse.

 

***

 

Rick had finally surrendered, giving in to the sleep his body so desperately needed, allowing Negan to slip quietly out of the bedroom for a few minutes in hope of finding himself something to eat down in the kitchen.

 

Grabbing a sharp knife and a couple of fresh ripe peaches from a bowl on the counter, he pulled a chair up to the island and sat down. Cutting a thick slice from the juicy piece of fruit, he held it up to his nose, inhaling its exotically sweet scent before popping it into his mouth.

 

Just as he dug his knife in for another slice, the kitchen doors swung open with an enormous force, slamming them hard against the walls behind them. Abraham had made it home. He stalked in, soaked to the bone and looking mad as all hell.

 

Unbothered by his presence, Negan turned his attention back to the fruit in his hand and took another big bite, wiping the juice off of his chin with his shirt sleeve. He could see Abe storming toward him out of the corner of his eye. He knew he was pissed because he was left at the club with no way home. He also knew what was coming next.

 

Using every ounce of pent up rage and all of his upper body strength, Abraham swung his fist hard, having every intention of making a solid connection with the center of Negan’s face.

 

With one fluid motion, he spun low out of his seat, kicking Abe’s legs out from under him before he could touch him. Landing flat on his back, Abe hit the ground hard with a loud thud, the impact audibly knocking the wind out of his lungs.

 

Taking the chair, Negan placed it over top of Abraham and sat on it, holding him down with it like a lion tamer. With the rung of the chair pressed against his throat, he looked down at him, taking another juice-rich bite of his peach while the big man on his back struggled to breathe.

 

Between gasps, Abe nodded, signaling with his pinned hands that he’d had enough. Negan stood and offered him a hand up.

 

As soon as his back was turned to put the chair away, Abraham took another swing at him, this time aiming for the back of his head. Negan ducked and moved under it, grabbing him and shoving him face first across the island, breaking an expensive set of crystal glassware that had been left out. Abraham, now swimming in a sea of broken glass on the floor, got up slowly and wiped the blood off of his face.

 

Negan bent down to pick up a broken plate in front of him. As he righted himself, his ears pricked at the sound of a knife being unsheathed from the knife block behind him.

 

Okay, now he was starting to get irritated. Most people would have already given up by now, accepted their loss and moved on. But, as he was quickly coming to realize, Abraham was definitely _not_ like most people. He was headstrong. Negan got that. He did. He was a strong-willed man himself. And, in being so, he was not one to be easily intimidated.

 

On the counter next to his hand was the knife he had used to cut his peach. With a tilt of his head, he picked it up and flipped it up in the air, catching it by the blade. He turned around. Abe was standing on the other side of the island holding a large carving knife out in front of him, his body already positioned in a fighting stance.

 

With his cat-like reflexes, he watched and he waited, his mind and body ready to respond at the drop of a hat. The moment he saw Abraham move to take a step in his direction, Negan threw the knife, sinking the sharp point of the blade into the wall a half inch from his ear.

 

A slow take to his left showed Abraham just how close the knife had come to hitting his face. So close, in fact, he could smell the scent of the ripe peach still on it. He relented, returning the large knife back to its rightful place in the block before putting his hands up in surrender.

 

“I don’t wanna talk about this again.” Negan picked up his half-eaten peach off of the counter, finishing it in three calm bites.

 

Thanks to the bitter sting of his wounded pride, Abraham was unable to look him in the eye. With a small nod of his head—and a better understanding about who was in charge around here now—he pushed himself off of the edge of the counter and trudged toward the back of the house.

 

***

 

After talking to the uniformed guard on duty in the gate house about beefing up security even more following Rick’s close call, Negan walked back up the driveway toward the mansion. The grounds were quiet, peaceful. Last night’s storms had finally given way to the misty gray and curling vapors of early morning.

 

High above the mist, Negan looked up to see a small promising patch of bright blue—and one single twinkling star. He didn’t know whether he should smile or frown. That small sparkling glimmer of light in the sky made him think of Rick. That very same sky had dished out a good beating last night, pounding and bruising the earth with its heavy rains and brutal winds, much the way his fans had done to him. Yet, there it was, still shining bright and strong through the hazy aftermath.

 

In his own right, _Rick_ was a star. But the way he looked last night sitting there in the back of the limousine, standing alone in the dark hallway and lying in his bed, too scared to go to sleep, he was afraid his spirit had been broken. Worried that his light— _his sparkle_ —had been snuffed out forever by the storm brewing over him right now.

 

As he shined his flashlight into one of the security cameras that had taken an obvious hit during the storm, Negan’s keen sense of awareness kicked in. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. He looked all around, not seeing anything or anyone in either direction. But he could _feel_ it, a pair of eyes burning a hole through is skin, watching his every move.

 

He kept working, waiting on whoever was lurking about to make their move. Pulling the cover off of the camera, he inspected the internal components for damage. When everything checked out okay, he replaced the shield and radioed the gate house.

 

“Have you got a feed on camera six? She took on some damage last night, but I’m thinking the shit’s just a cosmetic issue.”

 

While he waited for an answer, he heard movement in the nearby brush. Then… nothing. It was quiet again. _Probably a deer or goddamn squirrel,_ he thought. Maybe it was just his imagination. He had lost a full night’s sleep sitting with Rick all night. But again, as he moved to inspect the other cameras, he heard the same noise, more distinct this time, closer. He knew there was something—someone out there.

 

“That’s affirmative, boss. We’ve got a clear picture on all nine screens.”

 

“Copy that.” As Negan was tucking his flashlight back inside his coat pocket, a twig snapped behind him.

 

“Boo!” Rick laughed, fighting his way out of the brush and vegetation. “Gotcha, didn’t I?”

 

“Hey. Didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

 

Rick ran down the steep hill, grabbing onto Negan’s shoulder for brakes when he reached the bottom. “Yeah well, I couldn’t go back to sleep so I thought I’d go for a run. Bet you didn’t know I jogged, did you?”

 

Negan smiled briefly, shaking his head.

 

Rick was dressed in a pair of cut-off sweats and a white cotton t-shirt that was fraying around the collar with age. Even with the cuts and bruises to his face, the clothes softened his appearance. His manner, too, was different. He was charming—friendly.  

 

“What’s the matter?” Rick asked, noticing the way Negan stared at him. “You afraid someone might pick me off in my snazzy running clothes?”

 

“No,” Negan laughed nervously. “I’m afraid I might have to go jogging _with_ you.”

 

“Oh.” Rick looked up at the sky then down to his sneakers. “Will you walk with me a little?”

 

Negan nodded his head as they headed off across the grounds.

 

Placing his hands behind him as he walked, Rick cleared his throat. “Look. I know this is kinda late, but thank you. I’m really glad you’re here.” He met Negan’s eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna try and cooperate.”

 

“That’s fucking good to hear, Rick.”

 

After walking in silence for a while, Rick turned around, stopping in front of Negan. “I have this problem,” he murmured, sounding genuinely unsure of himself—nervous. “This _minor_ little problem.”

 

Finding his sudden, incredibly shy behaviour very appealing, Negan smiled affectionately. “And what’s that?”

 

Rick took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, shakily. “Well you see, I’d like to go out for an evening. Just me and a guy. You know… ” Clearly embarrassed, he swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “Like a date… thing. But, as we both know, I can’t go out on a date because you have to be with me every minute that I’m out there. I mean, what if he asked me up to his place afterwards? Are you gonna come, too?” He paused to scratch his scruffy cheek. “So the only thing I can figure… is for you to take me out.”

 

With a bemused expression, Negan crossed his arms.

 

“So,” Rick sighed. “That’s what I was wondering. But only if you want to. _Only_ if you want to." He stood there, smiling awkwardly, waiting for an answer that never came.

 

 _“Rick!”_ Shane called out from the balcony with a phone held high in his hand, Carl standing right beside him. _“Phone call! Said it’s urgent!”_

 

“God,” Rick threw both hands on top of his head. “This is so fucking embarrassing. I’m gonna go get that. You decide, okay?” He jogged back up the hill to the pool area.

 

Still not talking, Negan followed after him.

 

“Rick! It’s Glenn! Come get the damn phone!”

 

Rick stopped and turned around. “Tell him he’s gonna have to wait, Shane.” He smiled warmly. “I’m trying to get myself fixed up here.”

 

With his expression turning cold, Shane dropped his arm and stalked back inside. Carl, a bright smile now splitting his little freckled face, continued to watch with excitement, as his dad walked toward the house with Negan.

  



	7. Chapter 7

“But  _ Dad _ .” Carl couldn’t control the fear that was causing his small frame to tremble as he stood there by the pool, perched next to his father. “I can’t do it. I  _ can’t _ . I’m too scared.”

 

Rick felt sorry for his son, he really did. He wanted nothing more than to scoop him up in his arms right then and there, to hold him, comfort him until that fear was gone. But his love for boats—boats on the  _ water _ —it terrified him. Carl couldn’t swim. 

 

His favorite pastime was spending an entire day by the poolside, dangling his feet in the water while he played with one of his remote control boats. But what if he slipped? What if he fell in while reaching out for one of his toys? What if there wasn’t anyone around to help him? The mere thought of  _ anything  _ happening to his little boy, it turned his stomach.

 

“Carl, the only way you’re going to learn to swim is if you actually get  _ in  _ the water.” Rick cracked a smile, nearly laughing at the way his son tilted his head, cocking an overly dramatic skeptical eyebrow in his direction. “I’m right here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

 

Carl had long stopped listening to his dad. His attention was elsewhere. He watched as one of the armed guards made his rounds over the property, fascinated with all of the new people around and all of their security devices and, well let’s face it, their cool weapons. More than anything, he was fascinated with the man in charge of it all—who just so happened to be making the rounds with the guard. “Hey, Negan!”

 

“ _ Carl _ ,” Rick snarled with a sharp whisper between his teeth. “Don’t call him over here.” 

 

Rick was embarrassed. Too embarrassed to face him after the way he threw himself at his feet a few days ago, practically begging him to take him out on a date. What the hell was he thinking anyway? He didn’t want to face him. He couldn’t. Especially the way Negan had gone out of his way, making it a point to avoid him any way he could since that day.

 

“What?” Carl asked dejectedly, dropping his shoulders and looking up at his father with those big, sad blue eyes. “I was only trying to say hi.”

 

“I’m sorry, son.” Rick tilted his face up toward him. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I just… ” He trailed off. He couldn’t talk to Carl about this. He was just a boy. He didn’t have the first clue about things like— 

 

“You like Negan,” Carl announced matter-of-factly. “Don’t you, dad?”

 

Knocked off guard by his son’s personal ambush, Rick tried to swallow past the lump in his suddenly dry throat. “You-you mean as a person? Yeah... I guess… he’s okay… I mean…”

 

“You  _ like him  _ like him, don’t you?” Carl questioned, not bothering to wait for an answer. “I can tell.”

 

Rick looked up, smiling as he watched Negan work. Checking this and double checking that. Making sure everything—every lock, every bolt, every hinge—was kept in pristine working order.

 

He dropped his head, a mood of sadness washing over him as he stared into the crystal blue water of the pool. It was obvious that Negan cared, hell he had shown him that much. But it was his  _ job  _ to care. That’s what he did. He was getting paid to keep him safe. He wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of his heart. 

 

“He likes you too,” Carl stated, untying and retying several knots in the pull strings of his swim shorts.

 

“How do you know that?” Rick’s eyes danced, blending with confusion, hope and fear. “Did he tell you that?” Rick was impatient for an answer. “Carl? Did he tell you he liked me?”

 

“He didn’t have to. I’m a kid. I’m little. I can see things that big people can’t.”

 

“What do you—”

 

“Hey, kid.” Without warning, Negan’s voice cut through their conversation. “You going for a swim?”

 

“No way,” Carl insisted, shaking his head. “Dad wants me to learn, but I’m too scared.”

 

“How you feeling?” Negan smiled, turning his sights on Rick. “How’s your head?” He pushed his hair back away from his forehead before lifting the hem of his shirt. “All your cuts and bruises healing the way they’re supposed to?”

 

“I’m okay,” Rick answered, shivering as warm fingertips traced the sliver of exposed skin just above the waistband of his blue jeans. “Muscles are still a little sore when I first wake up but—where’ve you been?”

 

“I’ve been around. Working. I… I was giving you some time to heal.” He nodded. “Giving myself some time to think.”

 

“Think?” Rick’s face wrinkled as he braced himself for the rejection he’d been waiting on. “Think about what?”

 

“What you-you know what you had proposed the other day. For me to take you out.”

 

“And?” Rick leaned in, hanging on his every word, waiting for an answer.

 

“ _ And _ ... hey, Carl.”

 

Rick groaned inwardly with aggravated impatience.

 

“You know how my daddy taught me to swim?” Negan continued.

 

“How?”

 

“Like this…” 

 

By the time Rick realized that his feet were off the ground, Negan had already tossed him into the pool, his body hitting the water with a splash. As soon as his head broke the surface of the water, he drew in a ragged, whooping gasp of air. “You son of a—”

 

“Be ready by six o’clock. No limo. We’ll take my car.”

 

Rick coughed violently, choking on the mouthful of chlorinated water he swallowed. But even then, as his arms and legs fluttered to keep him afloat, he couldn’t hide his smile.

 

“Make sure you dress down, very casual, like the way you are now. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye. Not on purpose, anyway.” With pursed lips and a slow wink, he turned on his heel and sauntered off.”

 

Carl smiled, taking on an I-told-you-so air before setting his boat on top of the water, speeding it around his dad in circles.

 

***

 

Following the exit signs through the darkened world of squeaky theater seats, red velvet curtains and the smell of hot buttered popcorn, Rick and Negan walked out of the multiplex with the rest of the movie-goers without a single person calling out Rick’s name or asking him for a picture or autograph. 

 

“Thank you.” Rick adjusted the baseball cap that he’d thrown on to blend in with the movie crowd better, popping another handful of Cookie Dough Bites candy into his mouth as they strolled down the sidewalk side-by-side. “I haven’t been able to do that in a long time. I’ve missed it. I miss a lot of the simple, everyday things. I’d give anything if I could do this sorta thing with Carl.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Negan eyed him in disbelief. “You have your own jumbo screen theater…  _ inside your house, Rick.” _

 

“It’s not the same,” he insisted, shaking his head. He held out his nearly empty candy box, offering Negan a handful. “I don’t know, to me, there’s just something about the old, run down movie theaters. I love it.” 

 

“What was it that grabbed your fucking fancy first, Rick? Was it the stale popcorn spilled all over the dirty carpet that crunched under your feet? Oh, I know.” Negan teased, nudging him with his elbow. “I bet it was those irresistible armrests, wasn’t it? Hard, uncomfortable and sticky with God knows what kind of syrupy shit.”

 

Rick threw his head back, releasing the sound of his laughter to the sky. “Actually, my personal favorite would have to be the old creaky seats. I thought mine was gonna explode into splinters under my ass every time I took a deep breath. And how old was that movie? It was in black and white for fuck’s sake.”

 

“Yojimbo came out  _ in _ … _ ”  _ Negan looked up with a squint as he searched his memory. “1961, I believe.”

 

“Wow.” Rick got quiet for a minute, thinking back about the movie. “That guy, he didn’t look like he wanted to die, to me.” 

 

“There’s a big difference between wanting to die and not being afraid to die.” Negan looked both ways, placing his hand on the small of Rick’s back as they crossed the street.

 

“So, because he wasn’t afraid to die…” Rick stopped long enough to toss his empty candy box into the trash can on the sidewalk. “That made him invincible?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Rick thought about it for a long moment before turning around. “I don’t know… but he sure creamed all of their asses in the end with that sword,” he shouted, mimicking the combat movements and sounds of a swinging katana.

 

Negan laughed as he opened his passenger side door for Rick. “I’m glad you liked it.”

 

***

 

Rick lifted a tall glass of cold beer to his lips as he gazed through the cigarette smoke-filled haze of the room. The muffled conversation around the bar made by patrons wearing cowboy hats and tight Wrangler’s created a low continuous droning sound that paired quite well with the country music spilling out of the jukebox in the corner. The crisp, sharp clicking sound of billiard balls striking one another only added to the atmosphere. He was certainly out of his element tonight... but he liked it. 

 

“So, tell me.” Rick said, running his thumb through the tiny droplets of condensation gathering on the outside of his glass. “Is this your kind of place?” His eyes followed the trickles of water as they pooled on the table.

 

“Yeah,” Negan answered with a slow nod, taking a sip from his beer. 

 

“Your kind of  _ music _ , too?” 

 

“Yep.  _ Ab _ solutely.”

 

Seeing straight through his transparent lie, Rick leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin on his fists as he stared at Negan across the table with a knowing smile. “You figure no one can get by you here, huh? You figure none of these  _ good ol’ boys  _ can take you. That why you brought me here?”

 

“If someone’s willing to swap his life for a kill… nothing’s gonna stop him.”

 

Rick’s eyes widened at Negan’s serious tone. “Great. What do I need you for?”

 

“Well, he might get me instead of you.”

 

Rick watched him from across the table. The way his eyes were constantly moving around, scanning the room, the people, searching for anyone or anything that looked shady or out of place. He wasn’t taking anything for granted. “You’re ready to die for  _ me _ ? Just like that?”

 

Polishing off the rest of his beer in one swallow, Negan tipped his empty glass at the cocktail waitress for a refill. “I’m supposed to. It’s my job.”

 

Rick’s eyes were still locked on him. “And you’d do it? Seriously, if that’s what it came down to, you’d just... give up your life?”

 

Without hesitation, Negan answered with another nod.

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugged, unable to stop the small smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “I can’t fucking sing.”

 

Rick started giggling into his glass, nearly inhaling the last of his beer into his lungs. Grabbing a handful of cheap napkins from the broken dispenser, he wiped his mouth. “So…” He stared down at his empty plate, his fingers absentmindedly picking at the crumbs left from the cheeseburger and crinkle fries he had happily stuffed himself with earlier. “You ever fall for anyone?” He glanced up with hopeful eyes, the thumps of his anxious heart pounding in his ears. “You know, someone you were working for?” 

 

Negan was well aware of what Rick was hinting at, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered by it, but that didn’t make it any easier to volunteer the information he was after. It was a sore spot, an area of his life that he rarely spoke about, even with his closest friends. “A long time ago, yeah. She uh…” Negan grew quiet. 

 

“ _ Well _ , what happened?” Rick asked, his tone and expression coming off a little more manic than he was aiming for. “Do you mind if I ask?” 

 

Negan peered at him over his glass. “Do  _ you  _ mind if I don’t answer?”

 

Rick’s mouth twisted with cynical amusement before a wide toothy grin split his face. “Why? She didn’t die, did she?” he teased, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “While you were protecting her, she got killed, didn’t she?”

 

Across the table, Negan offered no verbal response, but his somber expression revealed more than any amount of words could ever convey. 

 

Rick’s laughter died down to a couple of small outbursts before fading altogether, the smile that remained on his face slowly disintegrated as he took in Negan’s grim features. “God, that’s not it, is it? Negan? Tell me that’s not what happened.” 

 

Negan’s eyes stayed locked on his glass, tracing its wet rim with his finger. “Nobody’s perfect, Rick.”

 

Six years ago, Negan was hired to protect Michonne Anthony, a five-time world champion in Kendo fighting. Not only was she the best katana-wielding warrior in the game, she was beautiful and incredibly smart. Everyone wanted her. Everyone wanted to be with her. But one man in particular made it his mission to see that he was the one who got her.

 

While Negan did manage to thwart several abduction attempts, he never got close enough to the stalker to apprehend him. 

 

After spending the majority of their time together, getting comfortable with each other’s company, Negan and Michonne became romantically involved. That’s when he let his guard down. He started to break protocol, ignoring his own rules and regulations, no matter how substantial or trivial they were. 

 

Two minutes—that’s all it took. He left her in the car for two minutes to run inside a convenience store. When he came back, she was gone. 

 

They found her next to the stalker’s body in a run down motel room. She had fought back, managing to end her attacker’s life in the process. But her own wounds were too grave to survive. By the time help arrived, she was lying in a pool of her own blood with no pulse.

 

“I’m sorry Negan,” Rick whispered brokenly, his stomach was churning and his eyes burned with the threat of tears. “I’m so  _ sorry _ .” 

 

Negan looked at him. He could see the pain and embarrassment in his lowered eyes. Yes, he did open up an old wound and  _ yes _ , it definitely hurt, but he couldn’t stand to see him like this. 

 

“ _ Ehhhhhh _ ,” Negan mimicked, making the loud sound of a game show buzzer. “Nice fucking try though,” he said, forcing himself to laugh.

 

Rick gasped, his mouth falling open with both shock and relief. “You asshole,” he laughed, grabbing the handful of uneaten fries off of Negan’s plate, throwing them across the table. 

 

“It was a little less dramatic than that,” Negan lied, laughing as he dodged the cold fries, swatting at them with his hand. “She just decided she didn’t love me anymore. Can you imagine that, Rick?” he asked, adding a charming smile. “Falling out of love with  _ me _ ?” 

 

“No,” Rick answered softly, reaching across the table and touching the back of his hand. “No. I can't imagine that at all.”

 

A slow song started playing on the jukebox. 

 

_ If I should stay _

_ I would only be in your way _

_ So I'll go but I know _

_ I'll think of you every step of the way _

 

Over Negan’s shoulder, Rick watched as several couples made their way to the dance floor. “So, is this a  _ full-service  _ date, Negan?”

 

He pulled his hand away from Rick and sat back. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m only asking you to dance,” Rick laughed, standing up from his seat and extending his hand. “Come on. You can dance, can’t you?”

 

Negan hesitated—but only for a moment. He looked up and couldn’t help but smile. Putting his nervous hand inside Rick’s, he allowed himself to be pulled up and led to the small, sawdust-covered dance floor. 

 

_ And I will always love you _

_ I will always love you _

_ You _

_ My darling, you _

 

Rick closed his eyes as Negan’s arms slid down his sides, stopping at his waist, tightening his hold on his body as he pulled him close. Every sensation in his body came to life as he rested his cheek against his strong shoulder, inhaling the fresh, spicy scent of Negan’s cologne, their bodies beginning to sway gently to the music.

 

Negan’s fingers came up, tangling themselves in a flurry of brown curls as Rick started giggling, his warm breath falling soft over the sensitive skin of his neck, the caress of his lips, so soft and warm, wet against his flesh. His skin erupted in goosebumps when the man in his arms buried his face and laughed again. “What’s so goddamn funny?”

 

“Nothing,” Rick said, continuing to giggle against his neck. “It’s nothing.”

 

_ “What?  _ Are you laughing at  _ me _ , Rick? Am I doing this wrong?”

 

“No, no. You’re perfect.” Rick lifted his head, looking into Negan’s eyes. “It’s the song. Have you listened to the words? It’s so damn depressing.”

 

_ Bittersweet memories _

_ That is all I'm taking with me _

_ So goodbye _

_ Please don't cry _

_ We both know I'm not what you, you need _

 

“It  _ is  _ depressing,” Negan agreed, looking down at the soft bundle of man snuggled against him. “This person is singing about someone they love with all of their heart. But the couple has come to realize that they’re just not meant to be. They're not right for each other. But, even though they’re letting each other go, this person knows that they will never stop  _ loving _ the other.”

 

“One of those somebody’s-always-leaving-somebody songs,” Rick whispered against his skin. “I don’t like those kind of songs. They make me sad. If people love each other, they should stay together.” 

 

Even though he didn't want to, Negan could feel it. He could feel himself falling fast as Rick held onto him even tighter, his helpless heart spiraling from his body, being sucked out of his chest and landing right into the hands of a man—the first person who had managed to make it beat in a very long time.

 

Rick jumped, whipping around toward the sound of a stack of dishes shattering on the floor. 

 

“You’re okay,” Negan assured him, holding him by the back of his shirt. “The waitress just had an accident, that’s all. There’s not a fucking soul here that wants to hurt you, I promise.”

 

Rick turned back to him, relishing the safety he found in his arms. “Can we get out of here?” His heart was beating frantically inside his chest. “But I-I don’t wanna go home yet.”

 

“Well, where do you wanna go, Rick? It’s not like we’ve got a lot of options here. I can’t just take you any goddamn where, not after what happened.”

 

“Well,” Rick sank his teeth into the swell of his bottom lip and glanced up, running his fingers along the collar of Negan's t-shirt. “You've seen  _ my _ house… how ‘bout you show me yours?”

 


End file.
